


Bittersweet (A Homonym and Innuendo)

by Ritzy_bird



Series: #Buy Jean An Actual Dildo 2k16 [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Out, Emotional Rollercoaster, Jean really loves his legs, M/M, Other, Some minor tags omitted to avoid spoilers, Valentine's Day, body image issues, lots of chocolate, romantic pining, sin - Freeform, thirst, using a non-dildo item as a dildo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 80,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean's an idiot. An overly emotional, pessimistic, hideous idiot, and he knows it. At least there's one thing that cheers him up that's never let him down before: Masturbating.<br/>Love is in the air</p><p>Alternatively: The one where Marco calls Jean cute. And Valentine's Day.</p><p>**The "some minor tags omitted to avoid spoilers" thing? None of those omitted tags are triggery, negative, or harmful things. Just story things. Like if I didn't tag "coming out" if I wanted it to be a surprise that Jean comes out to someone in the story, but more important. Important minor tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet (A Homonym and Innuendo)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollyboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyboy/gifts).



> Where has this been? Why did this take so long? Will this ever be completed? Heeeeyyyy if we pretend I posted a 10k chapter EVERY month since February it's like I've been on a roll, yeah? Let's just pretend I did that. Love you. Leave a comment down below and tell me the second you realized the sinning was about to begin.  
> 

February had to be, without a doubt, one of the weirdest months of the year. It was so short, and it had a ridiculous array of holidays and celebrations crammed into it like a commercialized tornado from Hell. Groundhog day, President's Day, the super bowl, if that could even be considered something to celebrate, and a bunch of other things that Jean didn't care about.

Except Valentine's Day, which he had conflicting feelings about every time it came around. On one hand, yeah, it's a cute day about love and chocolate and, what, sex? Sex was good in Jean's book, or at least, the idea of it was definitely something he was up for.

Whatever though, it usually didn't bother Jean, because it was a good way for him to talk about relationship things with Marco. Which was really just Jean's way of trying to figure out whether or not Marco liked guys, and somehow, after all these years he still didn't have a clear answer. It was like Marco knew that people wanted to know what kind of people he was interested in fucking, and he decided to carefully construct all of his behavior in such a disgustingly vague way that no one would be able to really get a feel for who he was down to fuck with.

But now with Armin's whole, not into anything thing, Jean was more confused than ever. Things used to be so simple. One day he went from thinking "Boys are kinda cute or whatever", and believing that being straight was all there was. Then he learned about gay people. And then, he hit puberty and suddenly "boy are cute" changed to "I want to fuck boys because god damn they are _really_ cute". If only things were still as simple as when he was younger.

When Jean was still in elementary school, he liked how almost every kid in class was obligated to hand out valentines or snacks. Although, getting to middle school meant that little tradition wasn't practiced as much, so Jean only ever gave stupid Valentine's Day cards and gifts to his closest friends. Then he realized he had a crush on Marco, and Jean stopped all together to avoid making his feelings obvious.

Now, aside from a less capitalist way to express his feelings, Jean had settled for buying all the candy leftover on February 15th. He'd just stuff his face full of it to keep himself from feeling too lonely from not receiving any real gifts. Chocolate tastes better when it's 50% off and comes in a heart shaped box, right? He liked to fantasize sometimes about what he would do with his "significant other" on Valentine's Day-- Y'know if he had one, or would _ever_ have one....

Sure it was kind of pathetic to some people, but really, it's not like Jean was the only loser without a sweetheart or fuck buddy on Valentine's Day. He appreciated the holiday for the most part. Half of him thought it was incredibly romantic that there was an entire day dedicated to sharing flowers and chocolate and sweet words on stupid cards with the people in your life that you loved the most.

But the other, the more cynical part of Jean's mind, recognized it was just a holiday for making money in between Christmas and Easter, and that having a special day to express love was pointless. If you couldn't tell the person you loved that you loved them all the time, and you needed an excuse to treat them to chocolate, flowers, dinner, and maybe sex; What kind of lover _were_ you?

A piece of shit one, or at least that's what Jean thought. Something about being obligated to be romantic killed part of the romance when it came to Valentine's Day. But what did Jean know about real love or romance, when he hadn't been on a date in his life and couldn't even confess to the person he adored far too much for his own good? With all the shit Jean had put himself through over Marco, the only thing he knew for sure was that love was absolute torture.

So, all in all, it was a very weird time of the year for him. Jean was envious, bitter, and kind of lonely, but he never complained outside the privacy of the internet. No one could judge him there, not without getting immediately blocked so Jean could have some peace and quiet. Still no one to date, no one to kiss, no one to have sex with. Maybe in the week before the day actually arrived, he could change that? Nah, probably not.

Although this year, something was especially _strange_ about February, and he wasn't sure how exactly to handle it. Other kids at school were talking about things like sex and romance and all kinds of drama that Jean couldn't give two shits about because it didn't involve him, as usual. He was nosy, but not nosy enough to eavesdrop on _every_ conversation.

At first it was just a whisper, something he'd heard in the bathroom while he was trying to pop a zit into submission because it was just that fucking annoying. But then it was part of a conversation, and some laughter that he overheard on his way to algebra. Suddenly, Jean was all for being as nosy as possible.

It was one thing to hear some kind of offhanded bullshit about sex that some guys were passing back and forth to each other in the bathroom, but to hear something kinda similar on another day in the hallway? It was weird, and it bothered Jean a little. He tried not to think much of it, because jumping to conclusions and creating horrible explanations in his mind was only going to make things worse.

Gossip couldn't be trusted, at least not from strangers. Especially where relationships were concerned. Jean couldn't blame anyone though, not after what he'd heard. Who wouldn't want to know if Marco, sweet, gorgeous, seemingly innocent and _"single"_ Marco, was having sex and had some secret girlfriend? Now, Jean had recently found out that Marco was not nearly as pure and "innocent" as he'd once imagined, but this was a little bit of a stretch.

Jean was certain that someone had misunderstood something they heard about Marco's dozens and dozens of _fake_ girlfriends and wives that he'd wooed in games like Harvest Moon. Or maybe Marco had just talked too much about romancing Piper in Fallout 4 "by mistake". Whatever. Marco could go on and on about his fake relationships for hours before a stranger could realize he was talking about video games. That's all the gossip was.

It wasn't like Marco made the difference very clear when he was talking about fiction, and when he was talking about real life. Although, Jean was positive there was no actual sex involved with Harvest Moon. Just farming, and then marriage, and then a random kid manifests itself, or something. How should Jean know, he doesn't need fake romance to be happy! He's perfectly happy as things are, even if he still hadn't told Marco how much he loved him. Yeah. Perfectly fine and happy. And single. And ugly.

Things between Jean and Marco were pretty good, especially after they'd had such a lovely time opening Christmas presents before school started again. There was something so refreshing about the little secret that Marco had shared with him, even if it wasn't some kind of love confession that Jean, rightfully, could only imagine happening in his dreams. Still, what he heard at school had nothing to do with the secret Marco had told him, and it made Jean even more certain that the gossip only came from misunderstandings.

Not that Marco's secret wouldn't make for good gossip, but Jean had pinky promised he'd never utter a peep about it. The whole conversation was a special little thing between the two of them, as best friends, and how could Jean ruin the sacred bond of friendship by spilling the beans about some... stuff and things and whatnot? Oh well, it was unimportant, irrelevant, and Jean cared more about the idea of Marco having a secret girlfriend than he cared about some dark little secret that was practically ancient history.

He wasn't about to start asking around about some stupid rumor he heard _twice_ , from some kids he probably never talked to before. Marco may have been a loser, but he was a cute, charming loser who was nice to people and had decent grades. Any jealous asshole could make up some shit tier rumor about Marco having secrets and participating in a 13 year old's idea of a "scandal".

Jean had more important things to worry about, like shunning the latest romance movie that was out in time for Valentine's Day, and trying to ignore the political buzz on the internet. Seriously, he went online to escape reality with cute animal videos, to add things to his amazon wishlist he knew he'd never have, and to get off to porn. He did _not_ use the internet to learn about important world issues that went on outside his little bubble of life.

Something more fresh on Jean's brain was whether or not he should use the upcoming holiday to tell Marco how he felt, or if he should at least give him a Valentine's Day card, or a box of chocolates or whatever. But the idea that maybe, Marco was already thinking about telling someone else that he had a crush on _them_ , made Jean second guess himself constantly.

Maybe he'd never know. Jean was pacing around Walgreens trying to pretend he wasn't interested in the Valentine's Day section while Marco picked out some snacks the next aisle over. Which reminded him of when they were both younger and would actually attempt to count how many licks it actually did take to get to the center of a Tootsie pop. They never actually found out. Either they'd lose count or one of them would get impatient and bite into the damn things, like the smartass Mr. Owl in the commercials.

They were supposed to be at Jean's house, doing their homework. But they decided to put it off and walked to the store instead. Jean didn't have it in him to turn down a nice, long, private walk with Marco, especially if it meant an excuse not to do homework.

Should he have been romanticizing everything they did together? No, in fact it was probably hurting him more than anything, but he couldn't help it what with the Valentine's Day spirit in the air. He wasn't in affectionate overdrive, thank God, but he at least was thinking about doing romantic and sexual things with Marco. He wanted to take a stroll down the Valentine's Day aisle in the store to grab an overpriced box of chocolate for Marco, but if he did buy something, where would he hide it on the walk back?

He knew that Marco really liked chocolate truffles, and unless he had some secret admirer that wasn't Jean, who else was going to get him some by Sunday? Not that Jean could just shove it in Marco's locker like the love letter he wrote forever ago, but he'd find some way to get it to him, probably. Worst case scenario, he could just give it to Marco in person, as like a friendship gift.

Jean may have been deep in thought, but he still noticed as Marco left the candy aisle and rounded the corner into... the Valentine's Day aisle. It made Jean worry for a moment as he followed, walking slowly to hide his panic. Maybe Marco _did_ have a secret girlfriend, and was using this as an opportunity to get her stuff?

No, that was ridiculous, Marco already told Jean multiple times that he cared more about his fake relationships. But Marco never said anything about _boys_ , so maybe Marco had a secret boyfriend? Jean couldn't decide if that possibility was worse as he stared at Marco, who was picking through the bags of holiday candy now.

Marco looked over at Jean for a moment before wandering over towards the chocolates. Jean didn't want to feel like a creep for staring, so he quickly walked over behind him. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and scratched at his legs to compensate for not being able to pace around and overthink his "situation".

"Are you getting anything? You look nervous, and one of the employees keeps walking by-- I think they think we're trying to steal something." Marco sighed, giving Jean another glance before picking up a heart shaped box of pecan turtle truffles. Jean blinked, looking around to spot the employee who had the nerve to think someone like Marco would actually steal something.

Yeah okay so Jean stole candy from a store once when he was little, but when his mom found out she gave him the scolding of a life time and now Jean couldn't even look at Twix the same way. He hadn't thought about stealing since then.

There was a sign outside on the door that said something about no more than one teenager being allowed in the store at once without adult supervision, but who the hell ever took that seriously? "F-fine I'll get some gum or something at the register! Why would they think we're stealing?" Jean said quietly, taking his hands out from his pockets so make himself look less suspicious.

Marco turned around and handed some bags of Dove chocolates and mini Snickers to Jean, "I said you look nervous! You've been walking around looking all frustrated ever since we got here. And I mean, you do have one of those faces." Jean held onto the bags without a word and rolled his eyes, "What's that supposed to mean? I've got a, ah.... I have a great face, okay?" He was going to say he had a cute face, but that wasn't exactly true. His face's bone structure? Nice. His face's skin? Hm.

"Are you saying underneath all this acne I look like a criminal?" Jean asked, pretending he wasn't stressed about how, despite the weather still being cold and his face being less oily than usual, his acne started acting up recently. Marco put back the box of truffles, "Only when your face is all scrunched up when you're upset. Otherwise you look as harmless as aaa... kitten." Marco tapped one of the heart shaped boxes of chocolates.

It had a picture of a kitten on it and the words "You're the purrrrfect valentine!" written on it. Why did Jean have to be in love with such a fucking loser? "Uh huh, I'm just gonna pretend you mean that I'm as _cute_ as a kitten, and that people are just intimidated by how attractive I am." If Jean hadn't grown up with Marco, he would have been the one all intimidated by Marco's steaming hot body and cute-as-a-button face.

Marco didn't say anything as he turned and walked away towards the registers, but Jean saw the smile on his face and knew that Marco must have thought it was funny. What an asshole. Jean sucked on his teeth as he followed Marco, tempted to leave the bags of chocolate behind just so he'd have to watch Marco pout and go back for them himself. Marco looked cute when he had little pouts on his face-- But who was Jean kidding? He thought Marco _always_ looked cute.

Jean wanted to say something else, but he didn't like having conversations in front of store employees, it just felt strange. He placed the bags of candy on the counter and bent down to look at the rows of gum, grabbing the cheapest package of bubblegum that he saw before sliding it next to the chocolate with a forced smile. That'd show whichever employee who was stalking them that he wasn't there to steal.

He wasn't planning on paying for it himself, but then he noticed that Marco was staring at him, the smile on his face gone. Jean sighed and pulled a couple of dollars out of his pocket, and Marco pushed his candy away from the lonely little packet of gum. "These are separate." Marco said it with a forced smile as he pulled out his own money, and Jean realized that Marco did not have _nearly_ as much cash on him as he usually did.

Proof, that Marco must have had a secret... "significant other" and was spoiling them with gifts and/or lots of money. Or, who knows, maybe he just wasn't doing as many chores as usual. Really, it could go either way.

After Marco paid and took his bag, the cashier scanned the gum. "Your total is $1.05. Do you want this in a bag?" Jean shook his head, sliding the gum off the counter "Uh, nope." Ah yes, saving the planet one less plastic bag at a time. If only things were the other way around where Jean would have to ask for a bag if he wanted one, so that way he could avoid the painfully awkward "conversations" with cashiers. Because really, who needs a bag for a single pack of gum?

"Have a nice day." The cashier didn't say it all that enthusiastically as she handed Jean his change and receipt, but Jean still shuddered on the inside. Why did they have to be the kind of cashier that even somewhat follows that "service with a smile" unspoken set of guidelines? What was he supposed to say it back to them? Smile? Wave? "...Yah." Jean muttered as he quickly turned and started walking towards the door.

Maybe Jean should have let Marco handle the whole response thing? It'd just be weird if Marco tried anything now. He knew Marco didn't necessarily enjoy talking and smiling with store employees, so Jean didn't understand how he could stand that kind of awkward confrontation. Store employees could be serial killers. He knows! He's seen enough episodes of Criminal Minds, it's almost always a low-pay employee of some sort that's killing people.

"...That was awkward. You know didn't, _have_ to say anything, right?" Marco sighed once they were both finally out of the store. Jean really wished Marco didn't have to say it like it had been some awfully cringey, second-hand embarrassment type of situation that could have been easily avoided. Sure, that's _exactly_ what it was, but why acknowledge it when they could just pretend it never happened?

But walking in the now cold, but not cold enough to wear gloves weather, gave Jean the time to re-imagine every way he could have handled it differently. It was just one of his worse days, that's all! If he hadn't been so preoccupied with his thoughts then it could've been fine. Really. It wasn't his fault. "Well it wouldn't have happened if you'd just bought this." Jean pulled the gum out of his pocket, "Then it'd've been fine. Where's all your money anyway?"

Jean wasn't a mooch that was only friends with Marco for money or anything, not that it wasn't a major bonus on top of Marco's cute face and B+ personality. But Jean didn't ask for things constantly either, which meant he usually got free things whenever he _did_ happen to ask while Marco was around. If they were dating then he could get even _more_ free things! Like kisses.

Marco looked a little hurt, or even slightly offended? "I've been saving up money, I can't just buy you anything you want whenever you want all the time anymore, okay?" Wow. Jean didn't realize he'd pushed the "Disappointed Nagging Parent Mode" button on Marco today.

Jean looked away, and shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the gum he suddenly felt guilty for even having. It was cold anyway. " _Okay_ , okay, sorry. I didn't know." Of course he didn't know, otherwise he wouldn't have said anything! If Marco was any of this other friends, Jean probably would have thrown some attitude right back into Marco's dumb face. It was uncalled for, especially for Marco.

Yeah Marco had bad days and Jean could be oblivious sometimes, but Jean can't remember Marco ever being such an asshole without an obvious reason. Not even when they were younger. Well, maybe that's not entirely true. Jean's memory from then wasn't perfect, and Marco being one of very few friends probably made it easy for Jean to gloss over flawed memories of his almost perfect vision of a time where Marco could be considered... "innocent".

Marco sighed, sounding like a sad little kicked puppy. As if he had the right to! He wasn't the one that got yelled at. "No, alright I'm sorry, alright just-- Did you forget I'm turning 18 this year?" What? Why would Jean forget something like that? Marco must've read the confused look on Jean's face, because he breathed out his nose and did what Jean could only describe as the cutest, most passive aggressive eye-roll in existence.

Like Marco was just blinking to get some dust out of his eyes, but if you paid attention you could see his eye balls move. Maybe Marco was actually trying to be cute and not roll his eyes? Whatever, Jean thought it was pretty cute.

"I have to start paying rent to my parents? College? ...Insurance? God I hope they keep me on their insurance." Marco's eyes went wide after that, and Jean wondered what kind of horrible things Marco could imagine. When Jean imagined not having "insurance" all he could think of was that if he ever owned a house there would be a flood or a fire or something obscure that would ruin him if he didn't have insurance. But that was just silly. Why would Jean ever move out of his mom's house to pay his own mortgage and insurance!? Pfft!

But as Jean processed what Marco said, he just felt bad for Marco. "Oh. Shit, man, I'm sorry. I thought they just made Ymir pay rent because she dropped out of college." Even then, Jean couldn't understand why Marco's parents insisted that their kids pay them rent once they became "adults". Would Marco have to get a job, or would they just stop giving him his allowance?

Jean's family might as well have been the complete opposite, as obvious by Hitch, Jean's least favorite cousin, being able to freeload off Jean's mother however and whenever she wanted. Granted, Hitch was only home at night and some weekends, and she wasn't allowed to just leave shit everywhere either. But that was common decency, it wasn't the same as paying rent.

Maybe it was just a way for Marco's parents to keep their kids from taking money for granted or something. Or maybe it wasn't a rich parents thing and it was just a, parents who served in the military thing. Whatever, Jean needed to stop thinking about it. He usually tried not to judge other people's family business. At least, not judge them vocally. That'd be a nightmare and then some, and Jean didn't do well under that kind of pressure.

Change the subject: That's what he had to do. Change the subject. Make it not about weird family issues that weren't really issues, but were issues to Jean and so he had a hard time keeping himself from sharing his opinion that no one asked for. "Oh okay so you can't buy your best friend some cheap Trident gum, but you'll buy bags of chocolate for yourself? Or what, d'you have some secret girlfriend I don't know about?"

Well _that_ definitely wasn't what he wanted to say. He was supposed to make things positive, or at least avoid weird conversations. He was so very subtle and not jealous sounding at all, Jean should get a medal for that kind of smooth under-the-radar questioning. Or really, a good slap in the face for being a complete moron.

If only he could crawl into one of the gutters and wait there until everyone forgot about him. Jean couldn't even look at Marco's face. Instead he pulled the gum out from his pocket and tried to unwrap a piece and put it in his mouth as fast as possible. He wouldn't have to say anything else if he was choking on gum, and hey, maybe if he was lucky he'd actually choke. Again, he was doing a wonderful job at looking inconspicuous.

Maybe it just took a bit for Marco to register it, Jean didn't know, but luckily he didn't even sound the slightest bit offended. "Uhh? No? I just wanted chocolate, why would I have a girlfriend? And you didn't even _want_ that! Maybe if they had those little caramel thingies you like I would've gotten those for you, but you just grabbed gum so that you could get _something_. I'm not gonna pay for that stuff."

Oooh yeah. Those "caramel thingies". Those, _those_ Jean would kill for. Green apple candy, filled with really good caramel. The best damn caramel Jean's ever had. Of course the company that made them had to _stop_ making them. Jean tried contacting whoever owned TootsiePops to convince them to make something like it, but they said no because they "already have a caramel apple lollipop". Why couldn't those complete idiots understand that a green apple lollipop covered in caramel wasn't the same thing as a green apple lollipop _filled_ with caramel?

It must've been because everything good in Jean's life had to be spoiled. Like Marco, because even now, Jean had no clue as to whether or not Marco liked guys. It was as if Marco had made sure to make anything he said about real life dating as vague as humanly possible but in such a nonchalant way that no one could tell without explicitly asking. And Jean most certainly was not asking. 

As soon as they stopped at a crosswalk, Jean tried to think of some kind of response to what Marco said. "Y'know, I mean, I don't hear people talk shit about you really but, haha, it's just, people seem to think you and Mikasa are secretly dating and that you fucked each other. Or something." That was the truth, but Jean looked at the traffic and thought it might just be a good idea at this point to cross the road now. Get hit by a car. 'Can't say stupid shit if he's dead, or in a coma.

Silence. Maybe, just maybe, Marco was considering pushing Jean into traffic himself. Wouldn't that be the biggest favor? Jean thought about suggesting that, but then he finally looked at Marco's face. 

Oh, well, this wasn't good. This wasn't good _at all_. Marco didn't look confused, or offended, and he wasn't smiling either. He looked like Jean had just told him that Marco should consider becoming a monk and moving half way across the world.

Oh dear.

"...What? Who told you th-- Jean, quit looking at me like that." Marco sounded like he was scolding Jean for doing something wrong. Was Jean looking at Marco a certain way? He didn't notice. All he was focused on was what Marco was doing.

Imagine, a garden hose, twisted up, and then turning the water on, and stepping on it. That's what Jean's current emotional state was.

"You _did_?" Forget about all the possible things it could've meant if it were true, which Jean was definitely certain that it was, he was stuck on the simple idea that Marco _had sex with someone_. Like, a real human being. A person. He couldn't worry about things like, the possibility that Marco wasn't interested in guys, or how Marco had sex with _Mikasa_ , a girl that they both saw and talked to way too frequently for the atmosphere to stay normal, and that Marco didn't tell Jean anything!

Marco, who kept sucking and biting on the insides of his cheeks, pressed the button for the crosswalk a couple of times and kept looking back at Jean. "It doesn't matter! Why do you believe everything you hear, anyway? Who said that? Okay and stop _staring_ at me like that." Jean wasn't staring at him, he was still trying to process the one thing before being able to get onto the judgey staring stage.

The crosswalk light changed and they both started walking across the street in complete silence. Jean was beginning to get the idea through his brain, but that just opened up the door for more questions. He started to look Marco up and down, as if he'd somehow missed something at some point between whenever Marco got laid and now. Really, what was he supposed to do here? Scream in agony or give Marco a pat on the back and a high five? Although Marco didn't look like he'd be very appreciative of either of those reactions.

"What, are you looking for a tail, extra arms? Stop it already, who told you that stuff?" And there was Marco's disappointed parental figure voice again, as he scratched his nose and then ran his free hand through his hair. Jean blinked and inhaled way more air into his lungs than was entirely necessary, as if he were just going to collapse if he didn't take as much time to breathe as possible. "I dunno. Random kids at school just, talkin' about it... I just can't believe you two are dating."

It was like Jean had pulled a rug out from under Marco's feet, because Marco actually froze for a second before continuing walking, "What!? What? No! We-- I'm I'm, I'm not _dating_ her!" Oh. Well thank fucking God, was that a relief or what? Jean felt a little bit better about that. A little. "Oh! Sorry.... Friends with... benefits, then?" One terrible choice in words after the next. Jean really should write a book; "1,000 Awful Things To Say". He could make millions, buy himself a ticket to Austria, and settle down in the country side somewhere, alone. Brush up on his Italian maybe. It was the language of love after all, right?

Jean was really only kidding, but apparently he'd been taken seriously. "Uhg, wh-what? No, oh my god _no_!" Marco sounded so embarrassed. If only it were a couple of years ago, then Jean would be able to hear Marco's voice crack and he could laugh about it. Masterfully changing the subject to something less awkward but probably just as frustrating for Marco, sure, but anything would be better than this.

A part of him was a little disappointed. Marco manages to have sex with one of the prettiest girls Jean's ever seen off the internet, and doesn't even get around to doing it more than once? Lame. "But you _did_ have sex?" Marco's face was red, and it definitely wasn't from the cold. Which, unfortunately made Jean start to imagine what Marco's face looked like during the, definitely-happened, sex.

Honestly, the more Jean though about it, the more he wished he'd _been there_! Marco was hot, Mikasa was hot, put the two together in a sexual situation and you get? Well Jean didn't know. He'd seen Marco wearing only underwear, and he knew what Mikasa looked like in a bikini bathing suit. All he had to imagine were the fun bits, and Jean's imagination was wild, for better or worse.

Maybe they taped it? Why two teenagers who aren't exactly known for being sex maniacs would want to video tape themselves fucking was a question he didn't have the sense to think of. But god, Jean would definitely pay money to see it. He could push back the envy of not being the one that got to have _sex_ with Marco, and it'd at least give him something to masturbate too that wasn't awkwardly fake and painful looking. Was that bad? Creepy, even? Maybe, but Jean would keep those thoughts to himself. Or at least try to.

That's when Jean noticed that Marco was ignoring him and starting to walk ahead. Neither of them were escaping this hell so easily, no, Jean needed to hear Marco say it. Both the side of Jean that wanted to give his best friend a high five for losing his virginity to the most attractive girl within reason, and the side of Jean that wanted to scratch his own face off in jealousy. He had to know for sure, otherwise he was just as bad as his own family for assuming the most ridiculous things based off reaction alone.

"...So, what? Was it uh, bad or something?" Jean asked nervously as he kept up with Marco's faster stride, switching constantly between trying to make eye contact and being very afraid to make eye contact and instead staring at the sidewalk. Clearly, Jean didn't know much about sex, or sexual things in general considering the first thing he thought of when he got bored of finger fucking himself was "use the worst household item imaginable as a dildo".

Marco swung the Walgreens bag full of chocolate and whacked Jean right in the ribs, " _Stop_ asking me things! It-it's none of your damn business okay!?" Jean didn't know what hurt more, the chocolate, or Marco getting truly upset with him. Still, did Marco's response mean that it actually was bad? Did Marco have a small dick or something? Maybe he finished too early and Mikasa laughed at him.

Then Jean came to yet another obvious but shocking realization. Sex involved orgasms, right? At least that's what's supposed to happen if you do it right, right? Right. Yeah. Yeah. "Wait didyouuse a condom!?" Jean didn't even think twice about letting it explode out of his mouth, and he was so worried about it that he didn't even flinch when Marco stopped walking and stared at him, eyes wide and lips parted like he didn't know what to say.

Maybe they were lucky, there was no one else really around. But then again maybe Jean wasn't lucky, because the look in Marco's eyes may have seemed plain shocked but Jean was certain they read more like "murder", and there were no witnesses. Jean was so bad with this, he didn't even notice how much he was acting just like his own overly nosy family members. He wanted to shut up but this was an important detail! The most important! Aside from the dating thing. That was very important to Jean.

Marco blinked once before speaking, "I... I can't, even _believe_ you'd ask me something like that!" His gentle, calm, shocked tone quickly escalated into one of anger and disbelief. Jean should have known better, it wasn't like he didn't know how much the whole, sex thing was an uncomfortable topic for Marco under any circumstance. And he'd been told to stop asking enough times. He should have stopped the first time Marco asked him to. He really should have.

" _Yes_ I used a--" Marco lowered his voice, "I used a condom, what the hell kind of person do you think I am Jean!?" Now Marco just looked and sounded embarrassed more than upset and well, Jean honestly felt the same way. He couldn't see Marco asking him the same kinds of questions based off some things he heard from people he didn't know. Not that there ever would be rumors about Jean getting laid, but that wasn't the point.

Still, Jean had to know. Because he was kinda jealous and because well, it seemed like a big deal to him that Marco went and lost his virginity, to a really, really hot girl, and didn't even tell Jean about it. No, Jean would never tell Marco about all of his "fun" sexual encounters with things he found in bathrooms that most certainly weren't meant for sexual things, but if Jean had sex with someone he wouldn't be able to shut up about it. At least that's what he thinks would happen.

If it had been Jean in Marco's shoes then he would have left in a fit of embarrassment, but Marco wasn't like that. Instead, Marco just started walking again. But Jean could tell that Marco was uncomfortable, and then when he started to follow behind quietly as if any kind of noise he made would somehow make things worse. One look at Marco's face and Jean understood that, yeah, Marco was still mad. Embarrassed, uncomfortable, mad, ...morally obligated to not physically assault Jean for invading his privacy?

It made Jean feel incredibly shameful to imagine what Marco was probably, most definitely was feeling. Should he apologize? Or would he fuck that up too? Oh no. He was acting like one of _those_ people. Clingy and nosy and jealous and not being able to shut up when he most certainly knows he should stop talking about relationship stuff.

He was being annoying. Jean hated the idea that he was annoying. People thinking he was an asshole? Okay fine whatever, that's pretty accurate, and probably because Jean does rude crap on purpose. But annoying? Jean hated being or feeling annoying. It was like being a fly invading a picnic that it wasn't invited to, and man did Jean hate flies. Except he wasn't a bug, and no one was trying to kill him for being so uncomfortably inconvenient.

That kind of over-thinking in bad situations was what gave Jean the ability to imagine the most ridiculous worst case scenarios he could, but he was trying his best not to let things get that far. But really, he went too far didn't he? He should say something, because if he waited until they got inside then it might just be awkward or maybe Marco would have decided to drop it, and Jean bringing it up again would only upset Marco all over again.

Thinking it over too many times more than necessary, Jean decided to leave it alone for as long as possible. He'd either internalize it until it made him sick or he'd let it slip anyway. It was probably better anyway if the entire subject could be ignored forever and things could go back to normal, or as normal as things could be with Jean's secret, intense pining for Marco.

Silence might have been painful and intense, but sometimes that was just what was better for everyone involved to clam down. The cold made the tension between them worse, but the sound of the wind blowing around helped from keeping an awkward silence in the air. Jean was trying to look at the positives of the situation, and ignore all the awkward negatives, but it wasn't easy. He knew Marco was still upset with him, and that alone was enough to make it hard to focus on anything but the bad.

He knew that this wouldn't be enough to make them less of friends or anything, and that eventually Marco wouldn't care about the topic anymore or hold a grudge against Jean for being so nosy. What Jean didn't know was if he'd be able to live with that. Letting things go was hard for him, and he was conflicted. Was he being so nosy because he was Marco's best friend, or because he was in love with Marco and was being defensive when he had no right to be? Either way he felt like he deserved to know, and he still felt bad.

Jean couldn't look at Marco as he walked ahead of him as they got close to the house, and he was so nervous he almost dropped his keys when he went to put them in the door handle. Such a mess, and he didn't even notice. Maybe he wanted to comply with Marco's wishes and keep quiet, but he wasn't going to be able to for even half as long as he'd imagined.

Almost immediately after they both got inside and Jean shut the door, he scrambled to come up with some kind of apology. He couldn't take the silence anymore. "I, I'm _sorry_ okay I should've shut up I just felt like, _fuck_ I dunno like I needed to know, okay? I mean we're best friends and, we've talked a lot lately about this kinda stuff and I dunno man I just, it, it freaked me out that it might be true and you didn't tell me about it or anything."

He was embarrassed and ashamed, sure, but he couldn't live with Marco either pretending things were fine or being visibly distant for the next few hours. Assuming Marco even wanted to stay that long anyway. At least Jean could bring himself to at least look at Marco's face this time, even if it wasn't proper eye contact.

It took a moment, but Marco closed his eyes and breathed out his nose before opening them again, scratching his head, "Jean, don't. It's, fine okay, I didn't, I didn't tell you because I knew you'd act like, _this_. I shouldn't've even said anything... I knew you'd get jealous."

Jean's eyes widened at that, and he could feel himself blushing and his heart race with fear. "What? I, I'm not, wh-why would I be jealous!?" He scoffed and looked away, trying to play it off. Marco didn't know, did he? That would be a nightmare, a complete disaster. He wasn't ready to face that. He couldn't have that conversation, not today, not now. Anything but that.

Marco, still a bit pink in the face himself, rolled his eyes, "Oh, come on Jean don't play dumb. I know you like her." 

Ohh. Ohhhhh. Okay. Safe. Jean was safe, he could breathe and live for now. He shrugged and started to kick his shoes off, "So, s-so you totally _did_ have sex with her then?" Not exactly admitting anything or changing the subject, but whatever, it would do.

Luckily Marco didn't seem as defensive anymore, "Ye...ahh? So what?" Though he immediately took his shoes off and turned around, heading into the living room to probably avoid the questions. Jean followed anyway, wincing a bit internally as he remembered that they did kind of have homework to do. He sat down on the floor next to his pile of books and worksheets, trying to resist asking too many questions too fast.

To avoid being too pushy, Jean tried to keep his cool and go along with what Marco wrongfully assumed about Jean's feelings on the matter. "Well uh, since you're both so close, you could put in a good word for me right?" He wouldn't mind going on a date with Mikasa, not that it'd ever happen or go anywhere. It still blew Jean's mind that somehow, at some point in time, Marco had _real life sex_ with someone like her.

She was so intimidating, Jean didn't see how Marco could do it. Jean still wasn't sure what Marco's deal was with romance, but he thought that Marco's general behavior meant that he wasn't... ready, to do anything with another person. Clearly, that hypothesis was 100% wrong.

Marco snorted, staring down at his own homework, "Uhm, no. Why not just, ask her out on a date?" Ha! What a stupid suggestion. As if Jean could ask someone out on a date. He was going on 5 years of pining after Marco and he hadn't even explicitly told anyone yet. Except Armin, but Armin didn't count because Armin already knew. Fuck Armin though, he was nosy in all the wrong ways. A hypocritical thought process, but why should Jean care? He didn't really hate Armin or anything, it just bothered him when he thought about some of the less-than-respectful things Armin had said or done regarding Jean's relationship issues.

"I can't just, ask someone out, okay? I don't know how." Jean was telling the truth, he really didn't know how. He'd seen movies and T.V., and read books and fantasized about it, but he didn't actually know what was right and what was fictional bullshit. Even then, there were plenty of hurdles in the way for asking anyone out, no matter who it was for him. But Marco didn't even look away from his homework, "Well ah, I guess you could practice in the mirror?"

Jean thought about it, but immediately threw the idea out. "Are you joking? Have you looked at my face lately, I mean, I can't look at myself and recite pickup lines dude that'd be a disaster." There was no way he'd be able to stare at his face for a long period of time, especially not to talk about things like romance and dating.

Marco started to actually work on his homework, writing stuff down and looking at his text books. Something to keep his mind off the conversation, maybe? "Uhh... just, practice on me then, pretend I'm her. Or something." Well, they were both equally attractive and out of Jean's league. The main difference though, aside from them being completely different people with completely different lives and genders, was that Jean really loved Marco. It's not the same thing. Although that was the point, it was kind of flipped on its head.

Could Jean really... practice pickup lines on Marco, to possibly use on Marco in the future? Was that even right? Something felt kinda dirty and wrong about using Marco as a pickup-line dummy when he didn't even know the lines would be meant for him. But then again, when has something being a little shameful ever stopped Jean before? "Seriously? Um. Oh...kaaay?"

For a while Jean wasn't going to bother, but as he glanced to the side to look at Marco every now and then, he started to have second thoughts. Marco was very cute when he was concentrating, his brows all furrowed and his lips parting when he wasn't sure of something. Now was as good a time of any for Jean to ramble on about how adorable he thought Marco was, right? "Okay. You.... You're really cute? Yeah. You've got a cute face." Not a great start.

He'd have to be careful to avoid making any details that were specific, because then, if he mentioned something like say freckles, Marco would immediately know what was really going on. "Your hair is um, really pretty." he was trying to get to the actual you know, pick up lines, but for now he was stuck on random compliments. It was intimidating for Marco to actually be there, but it was good, it was the best practice Jean could get.

Marco hadn't moved or said anything through any of it, he just kept his head down and wrote away with his pencil. He must've been doing math, eugh. Still, Jean couldn't keep his eyes on Marco the whole time even though that was the point of this whole practicing thing. He coughed to clear his throat and tried biting the insides of his mouth to keep himself from blushing or smiling too much. "I think your, eyes are nice, and your laugh is really, r-really sweet."

Thank God this wasn't actually real, and Marco was just oblivious to who Jean was referring to. Because Jean was absolutely terrible at this. He'd never be able to get it right. All the practice in the world wouldn't make him less nervous about talking to Marco like this. "I'd really like to take you somewhere, nice? Uh. Sometime, maybe. The ma-- Uh, no, no. We could, go to get ice cream. Oh... ice cream's at the mall. Shit." Jean said the last couple of sentences quietly, cursing himself for letting himself fumble the way he did.

"You're gorgeous!" And that, he shouted a little too loud. Honestly though, Jean just felt like, it'd be easier to just throw out anything he thought than meticulously trying to plan out each damn sentence. "And I lo-- _like you_ a lot! Y-you're one of the most, beautiful people I've ever met and I want you to know that." If his pencils were sharpened enough he'd probably just pick one up and stab himself in the leg.

Jean looked over at Marco for a second, only to blink and look back again. He wasn't writing at all, and his hand was over his mouth like he was somehow in such deep thought. But his _eyes_. Jean knew Marco. Jean knew Marco _wasn't_ concentrating. "What are you...?" Jean suddenly felt filthy all over again, blushing and scoffing as he crossed his arms. "Marco! You, you're _enjoying this_ aren't you!?"

Marco looked up, shocked, his face pink and his eyes now full of embarrassment. He dropped his hand back down to his knees and sucked in his lips, shaking his head and shrugging. "Nn-- Well, I, you know I like getting compliments, so, y'know, it's just... I don't get to hear compliments that often, and it's nice to hear them!" Jean would say it was unbelievable, but it really wasn't. The whole time Jean had felt like he was being dirty for using Marco in such a way, but if Marco was just taking it as a way to bask in compliments to boost his self esteem then it was okay, right?

Good for him, but still, it was odd. Jean knew Marco liked feeling good about himself, as most normal people did, and that he liked being told when he looked good or something, but this? It was weird. Not that Jean really had a place to judge, but he wondered how much Marco liked compliments like that. Jean huffed and shook his head, looking back down at his homework, "You are just, fuckin' weird. Pft."

Marco wasn't aggressive or anything, but he did sound defensive. "Oh, what, you don't like hearing nice things like that?" Jean shook his head to show his disappointment, "Using my feelings for someone else to your own advantage. Just cold." He was sarcastic and joking of course, but he figured he sent a clear enough message. And while yes, Jean loved compliments, he never actually got them. Not genuine ones anyway. People could go on and on about how good of a personality they thought he had or how "talented" he was with art, but most people didn't dare tell him he _looked_ good.

"Alright, alright! But uh, you really feel that way about Mikasa?" Marco sounded interested now, and he tore open one of the bags of chocolate and started eating some. Jean made sure to keep his head turned away as he lay down completely on the floor, his feet touching the wall. How could he lie? Some of those things were true about Mikasa, she was pretty and she took great care of her hair like most girls did, but the compliments had all been for Marco.

Although it was honestly kinda refreshing in a way to know what Marco would like those kinds of things if the time ever came for it. Jean was pretty sure he went a bit further in the love letter he wrote, but he'd scrubbed it so much from his memory that he wasn't sure how far the compliments really went.

"Sure, but uh, how did you ask her out?" Jean muttered the initial "sure" since he knew it was a lie and might be something Marco could catch onto. After a moment or two of silence, Jean turned his head, his eyebrow raised. "Hm? Not gonna tell me your secret huh? You get laid and I get to stay a single, lonely virgin _forever_ because my 'best friend' didn't wanna help me out...." He was exaggerating to try and make himself sound less like an envious, nosy jackass, and more like the innocent best friend he was supposed to be.

Marco had a strange look on his face: No blushing, or smirking, or even frowning, he was just looking down at his homework with a weird look in his eyes. Jean wasn't sure what it really was. "I um... I didn't ask her out?" Marco muttered, and the way he said it combined with the way his face changed made it seem like he didn't even understand what he was saying. Jean turned on his side so he could look at Marco without breaking his neck, "She asked _you_ out...?"

If Marco were anyone else then Jean would have screamed bullshit. It wasn't that Mikasa didn't ask people out, it's just that Jean didn't think she asked out people she really _knew_. They weren't super duper best friends or anything but Mikasa and Marco knew each other enough to consider each other friends. "Oh my god. How'd'you know to bring condoms? Were you like, hoping to get lucky?" He tried to keep a positive, almost joking tone to keep from turning the conversation sour again.

But Marco just shrugged, "It just sort of, happened." What? What the hell did that mean? "Ohh, so you did it at her house! I don't get it I thought her parents were always home? Oh god wait, Mikasa has like, condoms at her house? Were they like guy condoms or? The girl kind? What are the female condoms even like, I mean h-how does it work is it just like a bigger condom that's stretchier or I mean what? That's fucking _weird_ to think about...." He stopped rambling when he noticed the look on Marco's face.

It had been a gradual change, one that Jean didn't notice as it was happening, but as Jean had gone on and on spewing bullshit out of his mouth, Marco seemed to grow more visibly uncomfortable and embarrassed. Why? Only Marco would know. "Jean I... didn't go on a _date_ with her. I'd tell you if I went on a date with anyone, especially Mikasa, okay? I didn't though. There's no 'secret' I'm keeping from you, I don't know why it happened it just did and, I wouldn't do it again. Okay?"

Marco sounded uncomfortable in a way, but it was also really confusing to hear him say any of that at all. But before Jean could even process a response, Marco started to fiddle with one of the foil wrappers from the chocolate, forming it into a tiny ball and staring at it, "Remember... last year? When you uh, got drunk because I um, ditched you at that party?"

Jean's heart practically stopped. His eyes narrowed and his jaw lowered a bit as he processed the information. Marco stared at and played with the little foil ball, not taking his eyes off of it for a second. Jean blinked a few times, before sitting up and squeezing his pen in shock, "...No. You, you mean while I was off getting drunk off my ass you were banging Mikasa fucking Ackerman!? The whole time!?" He may not have remembered anything from that night, but he remembered the morning after and how upset he was about what little he understood and how terrible he felt for being punished for things he had no control over.

It was no secret that Mikasa liked to go to parties, whether it was for the free alcohol or the socialization. But sex!? Sex!? Jean had no fucking idea that Mikasa would have random one night stands with people. No fucking clue. He didn't remember seeing her there but then again, what did he remember about that party other than the dog? There were other teenagers there, and it wasn't like the party was outside of town, it was just in a neighborhood Jean and Marco hadn't been in before. Did Mikasa see Jean when he was drunk? Oh that'd be awful. Jean could _barely_ live it down that Marco had seen him as a drunken mess.

Marco looked up at Jean, and his expression just looked so ashamed, "Whoa okay, no, I was not having s-sex with her for _four hours straight_ okay!? It, it happened! And I freaked out afterwards and I didn't want to try n' act natural or whatever with you when I just, did _that_ , okay? I knew you liked her, but it just... _happened_." He sighed afterwards and shoved another chocolate in his mouth, like he'd just gotten some horrible dark secret off his conscience or something.

Did he really believe it was such a bad thing? Sure, Jean thought Mikasa was hot and smart, but that's just it. Even Jean would take up the opportunity to have sex with her if she was the one who offered. But clearly, Marco must have thought that Jean really _like_ -liked Mikasa, and that apparently by having sex with her he'd done something wrong. That wouldn't be the case whether Jean like-liked Mikasa or not. At least, Jean didn't think so.

"Marco," Jean started, calmed down now that he was over the initial shock, "That's... fine, man. You don't have to act like that, or whatever, okay? I mean you're acting like you did something bad. Mikasa's really hot and doesn't go out with a lot of people as far as I know, who wouldn't wanna lose their virginity to _her_? She's gotta be everyone's first choice, right?" Marco just shrugged and went back to staring at his homework and eating more chocolate.

"I know _that_ , I can, I can do whatever I want with whoever I want." It surprised Jean when he heard Marco say that, like it was obvious, or like he was even the slightest bit offended that Jean thought otherwise. "It's just, I _knew_ you liked her, and you knew that I knew that, and I thought _you'd_ be upset even though it just, happened and it didn't mean anything. I didn't wanna have to argue with you about it, I thought you'd be pissed because, because I'm not _sorry_ because it didn't mean anything. I thought, you'd think I did something wrong to you and, and I didn't, it wasn't _like_ that."

Jean didn't know what to say or do. There was a messy line between what's okay to do about your friends' wishes and what isn't. Was it okay to have sex with someone you knew your best friend was interested in? Who the hell knows? To Jean it didn't matter that much, sex was just sex, they were teenagers, Mikasa was hot. It was easy math.

As envious as Jean was about the whole thing, he couldn't see himself as getting legitimately angry about it if he did like Mikasa in the way Marco thought he did. He was more upset that Marco was just able to get laid than he was about the fact that someone else actually had sex with Marco.

"Wh-what, did you think... that I'd stop being friends with you or something?" Jean didn't mean to sound offended, he was just curious. But it did hurt a little. Gay, straight, bi, or whatever the hell else there was to be, Jean liked to think he wouldn't let his friendship with Marco be crushed over something like this. Or at least, Jean wouldn't be the one to become an angry, jealous, possessive mess.

He loved Marco too much for that, and not even just romantically. They were best friends and Jean didn't ever want things to fall apart between them, it was part of the reason why he hadn't been able to confess his feelings yet. Rejection would hurt, but losing Marco as his best friend in the process would be devastating.

Marco still wasn't making direct eye contact, but he glanced up at Jean for a second before shrugging, "I, I don't know? I mean I'm not saying.... I don't know what I'm saying, just, I thought you'd get upset, and then things wouldn't go back to normal, and then, you'd talk to me less, and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. And then, then we'd just _stop_ talking. You know? It happens all the time, I can't even remember who my 'best friend' was before we moved here, and people don't just stay friends forever, okay? Ask, ask your mom or something, is she still friends with her 'best friend' from high school? My mom isn't, my dad isn't, Ymir isn't...."

Jean would have normally made jokes about Marco's examples, like how of course Jean's mom wasn't friends with her old highschool classmates, because she grew up Catholic but decided to run off with some edgy delinquent who got her knocked up. Or y'know, how Ymir probably never had any friends because she's so damn rude. Or, or anything else that would have lightened the mood even a little bit.

"I mean maybe we'll be friends until we're so old we can't remember what day it is, maybe not, I don't know, but I don't want to stop being friends over something... so stupid." Jean didn't think it was 'stupid', not what was actually happening or the scenario Marco clearly believed was going to happen.

But he also didn't think it was fair for Marco to judge him like that either. "Not to sound, uh, dumb or anything, but I'm not that kind of person, Marco, I, I'm not _that_ big of an asshole. Even if I did stop talking to you even for a while I wouldn't, I wouldn't be _angry_ , I, I wouldn't just, stop being friends with you because you did anything with anyone I even kind of liked."

Marco huffed and Jean thought for a second that he saw him roll his eyes, "Jean you don't _know_ that! People can't, they can't help what they _feel_ , okay? What if you really liked, I mean what if you _really_ liked her? What if she liked me? What if w-we started dating or something, I mean, are you really trying to say you wouldn't be upset? And if you got upset you wouldn't be able to just, not be upset after a while. If you thought I really hurt you then, can you really say you'd just get over it after a while and things would be normal again? That you wouldn't be mad?"

None of that would ever happen though, not to Jean. Marco didn't date people, Jean didn't "really" like Mikasa, Mikasa didn't hold relationships for more than a few months, and everything Marco was rambling about just wasn't true. Jean wouldn't get mad if that happened, or at least it wouldn't be the main issue.

When he imagines what would happen if someone like, Armin, for example, dated Marco despite knowing Jean loved Marco? Jean only imagined himself being... sad. Really sad and self pitying maybe, but anger was a touch and go thing. It might have always came around when Jean was upset but it always fizzled away and ended up with Jean being sad more than anything.

He wouldn't let their friendship end in anger and petty crap like ignoring Marco until they just had nothing to talk to each other about anymore. Jean wasn't like that. Jean wouldn't do that to Marco. Then again, Jean had already been worried his friendship with Marco might implode if he confessed his feelings to him, so did he really have a right to be upset about what Marco thought was going to to happen?

" _That's_ not you, Jean. You care so much about what everyone else thinks, I don't think you'd be able to just get past it and then, then go back to 'normal', even if you wanted to.... I'm not saying that you'd act that way on purpose, or that I knew I would hurt you, just, things just happen sometimes and you can't force yourself not to feel a certain way about it. And I didn't even _think_ of that until afterwards, okay, so don't, don't act like I don't have a right to be worried."

It was a little upsetting to think that Marco had stressed about it at all, even for a good reason, and Jean felt bad that Marco had been worrying all this time over what was kind of a lie. "I... uh, a-alright. I get it... I think." An apology, even just a little "sorry" would have fit nicely at the end of that, but Jean was so bad at apologies he just couldn't help himself when the awkward feeling set in.

But it didn't surprise Jean too much when he thought about it more, what with his own paranoia. He really had been convinced that Marco just wasn't prepared for having sex with anybody, at least, he wouldn't be until he'd at least had a relationship first. Which from what Jean understood, Marco hadn't had a real relationship yet. He'd ask how exactly things played out, but considering how many times Marco said that "it just happened", Jean decided not to bother. He'd probably just get overly jealous if he heard any details anyway.

Maybe now was a good time for that high five and pat on the back? ...No, no, bad idea. It looked like Marco was trying to put on his "everything is fine I'm fine nothing's wrong" face as he went back to his homework, and Jean wasn't about to mess with that. Instead he reached over and jammed his hand in the Dove bag, pulling out a handful of chocolates before scooting back over. Marco didn't seem to mind, but that might've just been because he was focusing on acting like their previous conversation didn't happen.

Jean tried writing down notes for a bit, before turning one of the chocolates over in his hands. It was a cute wrapper. Silver with some little hearts on them, a special wrapping for the holiday most likely. He usually stuck to boring Hershey's chocolate, but he wasn't afraid of other brands so long as it wasn't dark chocolate. 

Seriously, fuck dark chocolate. Who cares about the health benefits or the "richness" of it? The Food Network could go on as much as they wanted about how fancy and precious dark chocolate was over any other kind of chocolate, but it was always going to taste like crap to Jean.

He unwrapped the chocolate and shoved it in his mouth, and damn, did he forget how good Dove chocolate tasted. It was smooth and melty-ish, it was like, love condensed into chocolate form. Which was probably what they were going for. Then he uncrinkled the wrapper to read the writing on it and snorted.

'Get swept away by love.' Swept away? Sure, sure. "Love" did a lot more for Jean than just that. Love punched him the face, kicked him down a flight of stairs, and then laughed at him as he tried to get up. Love was tearing Jean apart and it fucking _sucked_ how much he struggled to function sometimes with how much he loved Marco.

"'Exercise your heart today'."

Marco looked up, confused, "What?" Jean finished chewing and set the foil down, then flicked it away with his fingers. It didn't get very far, but Marco seemed to get the idea and leaned over to read it. "Oh, the wrapper things. Hm." He started looking through his own pile of wrappers, some of which were squished beyond saving, and picked them up, looking through them. He made a small smile before reading one of them, "'Hold hands firmly, hearts gently'?"

Jean shrugged, clueless to what the real meaning behind that one was, as he quickly peeled another chocolate out of its foil prison, "'A gentle touch speaks volumes'. Hm!" He thought they were funny, like little dumb fortune cookies. Jean was pretty sure they didn't make sense and were just random emotional buzz-words slapped together for the sake of a gimmick. But he was happy to see that Marco seemed to be interested in making fun of the little Dove messages too, since now Marco was unfolding as many of the wrappers as he could without tearing them.

If only Jean could be like that, to be so, stressed and upset and worried one minute, then brush it all aside the next to actually enjoy something. Marco seemed to be able to do it almost all the time, and genuinely be able to move on from a tense situation. 

Jean just wasn't capable of it. Even now he was barely keeping his thoughts clamped down. He was still back in that conversation they'd had before, his mind still asking questions and wanting to throw shit out of his mouth for answers that he knew he wouldn't get.

One of the wrappers must've been particularly entertaining though, because Marco's eyes lit up when he saw it, "Okay, 'Linger over chocolate longer'." Jean's brows furrowed at that, "What? What the hell does that mean?" Marco tilted his head and went to grab more chocolate, "I think it's their way of saying 'buy more chocolate'." He tossed the wrapper to the side and began working on opening another one.

As much as he'd love to devour half the bag, Jean resisted grabbing any more for himself. He didn't want to break out even more than he already had, and even if it was just a myth that chocolate caused acne he wasn't going to take the chance. Spring would be soon and his face would go back to being at its worst, and he'd like to preserve his okay-ish-ness for as long as possible.

He'd eat what ones he'd originally picked out and that'd be the end of it. "Hmmm. 'Go where your heart takes you.' I dunno Marco maybe we should start taking tips from these things, what'd'you think?" Jean joked as he opened another wrapped chocolate, biting the piece of chocolate in half and going to unwrap another one. 

Marco leaned back a bit and breathed out of his nose, that not-laugh laughter thing people do when something's funny but not _haha_ funny. "Uh huh.... 'Discover how much your heart can hold'...? How much what?" Seeing Marco smile like that made Jean so happy, it was like, a weight had been lifted. It felt good to know that what'd happened wasn't going to trample their relationship even for a day.

Jean shrugged as he moved onto his next piece, "Chocolate?" He read his most recent wrapper; 'Remember your first crush'. Yeah, as if he could forget. "What's that one say?" Marco asked, working on yet another piece of chocolate. Not wanting to open the topic of crushes and gushy secret pining garbage, Jean just crumpled the foil up and dropped it, "Just a repeat." And then he moved onto his last piece.

"Ah! Oh, okay," Jean sat up a bit and cleared his throat, "'Express what's in your heart. Love, Dove'." He said it with mocking tone, as if he were imitating some air-headed hopeless romantic who must have been behind the dumb wrappers. Then again, Jean wrote even dumber, sillier things in the anonymous love letter he'd given to Marco forever ago. At least he remembers thinking whatever he'd written was that bad. Hm. Maybe if he called Dove up they'd hire him to write for them?

Marco laughed a little bit, and dear God did that make Jean happy, but then pouted, "Aw, that one's not that bad. I mean I--" Marco stopped for a second, but then continued, "It's okay, it's nice I guess. It's just a marketing thing and it's not serious, but at least they're sweet." 

Jean shrugged, "Whatever, they're just lucky this chocolate actually tastes good. Y'know... I wonder if like, Dove chocolate and Dove soap are the same company? I mean they use the exact same font. Pretty sure the girls the commercials are the same too." Jean was lying. All commercial actors looked the same to him. All of them.

"I don't think so, I mean, why would anyone want to have a chocolate business, and then a soap business? I think it's just a coincidence or something, maybe women really like doves?" Marco didn't sound very invested in his conclusion as he gathered the pile of foil wrappers together in one big easily disposable ball.

Jean looked down and fiddled with what few wrappers he had, "I can think of at least _one_ good reason why you'd wanna run and advertise some lovey-chocolates and skin softening soap." He couldn't help it. He'd had their other conversation on the brain.

Marco didn't say anything for a moment, before scoffing and shaking his head, clearly appalled, "Jean. Do you ever think about anything other than sex?" Even though Marco was joking, Jean could have answered him and said the truth. Love, affection, cuddles, Jean thought about that stuff a lot too, even more than he used to on a regular basis. Maybe more than he'd like, and maybe it drove him crazy, but... there was an up side to it somewhere, maybe.

It was the exact reaction Jean had been going for, and it made him laugh even when Marco threw the crumpled foil ball of trash at him. "What? C'mon, you know everyone's going to be doing it on Valentine's Day." Oh, Jean could picture it now. Stuffing himself with over-priced chocolate and then treating himself to a nice, hot shower? Then some "alone time"? Yeah, that'd be a nice way to spend Valentine's Day.

"Okay well _we're_ not doing that," Marco said it so normally, that for a second Jean was wondering if he'd heard him right. "W-we?" Jean's shit eating grin was gone and his voice had gone quiet. For a second, he thought Marco meant something that he obviously didn't. 

"Yeah," Marco continued, "We're gonna marathon Criminal Minds on Valentine's Day, remember? With Pizza? Don't tell me you went out and got a date instead?" The last part was clearly another joke, but it was one that secretly hurt Jean. Especially after their last conversation.

Of course, Marco wasn't mocking Jean for being hideous or unable to get a date, Jean knew that wasn't it. Jean straightened up and tried to shake the weird feelings out of his system. "Pfft, yeah, I mean, I've got a hot date with me, myself, and I. Alone. At my house." Nice... save? Kind of? It was better than nothing. Jean had honestly forgotten about their Valentine's Day plans, and part of him felt shitty for it. He'd been so focused on what Marco had told him about what he did with Mikasa that he must have just, forgotten.

Marco nodded and went back to writing things down, "Ohh I get it. Who has time for your best friend when you can make out with your pillow and fantasize about cute girls? And guys." Well it was nice to know he hadn't forgotten that Jean was bi. They'd made an agreement not to talk about it unless they were in private, since well, Jean was barely ready to come out to his closest friend, and there was no way he was about to advertise it.

Jean sat up completely and leaned forward, biting the inside of his lips with nervousness. "Y'know, speaking of hot dates and cute girls? Are you gonna tell me how things were? With Mikasa? Like, what it was _like_? I mean last month we kind of talked about a lot of... stuff, and I figured you'd be able to tell me about this."

Funny how only a month or so ago Jean could never imagine talking about actual sex with Marco under normal circumstances. But things had also changed since then a month ago, and considering Marco lost his virginity of all things it was kind of a big deal anyway. "Jean...." Marco said quietly, blinking but not looking up at all. 

"I mean I'm not trying to like, beat all the little details and stuff out of you man but, you had _sex_ , okay that's, I dunno but I'm not upset that you did it with Mikasa so, you can tell me at least if it was uh.... Was it like it's, supposed to be?" Jean didn't want to explicitly ask if it felt good, that'd just, well to Jean it'd be too weird.

Marco shrugged and shook his head a bit, "Ugh, I, I don't know! H-how should I know what 'good sex' is supposed to feel like? It... was whatever. It was fine. I guess." His face was red now, and he sucked in the side of his mouth. He was clearly embarrassed now, but at least he wasn't mad.

"Okay, okay. Sorry." Jean said, putting his hands up as he leaned back, and trying to reduce his own blushing. "But, like, you're not dating her? I don't get it, she's... great. What'd she just not um, want that with you? Because if it were me I'd totally d-- Uh, I mean if I were, her, if I were her and did _that_ with-- ...I'd ask you out since, I'd, she-- You're attractive and stuff, y'know?" Jean's heard of putting your foot in your mouth, but this was more along the lines of shoving his entire leg down his throat and choking on it.

Jean could barely control himself. "I-I dunno Marco, just, isn't it kind of a big deal? I mean, we can tell each other anything, right? I'd, tell you if I lost my virginity to, to some as amazing as uhm, her. And I mean I'm not gonna tell anyone, and I get why you didn't tell me, but what you were worried about's not happening." As different as their relationship, or rather the way they saw each other, changed in the past month, Jean wanted things to still feel normal.

Marco was rubbing his knees, and he looked around pretty much everywhere that wasn't towards Jean. "Well, it's nice to know you think I'm, 'attractive and stuff'. But it doesn't _matter_. Even if she, wanted to go out with me or date me or whatever... I don't like her like that. I still don't."

"Jean, I know you want me to be happy and get a girlfriend and stuff but, it just sort of happened, and that was it. You said it yourself, I was worried about something that's not happening, but it's ancient history-- I still don't even know how you found out about it." He was wringing his hands as he finished, but Jean was just stunned. On one hand, his fuck up didn't fuck him up, but on the other? Did Marco really not want a girlfriend? He was avoiding the question.

Obviously the only person who knew was Marco, but Jean thought Armin said that he was sure Marco was interested in relationships. What if he was wrong? Armin was clearly an idiot when it came to relationships, considering his terrible advice to Jean and the terrible way he was handling his own mini melodrama.

Marco sounded so weirdly, relieved."I'm happy that it doesn't bother you or anything." Jean could feel himself blushing, although he wasn't sure why, maybe it was just a bit of embrassment. "Marco, Unless I tell you that I'm like, in love with someone or something, I don't want you to worry. And I, I promise, I'll tell you if I ever uh, yeah. Buuut I don't, so, it's really okay." It was odd how the entire atmosphere of the room just changed. He definitely wasn't expecting a conversation like this today, not that he'd be expecting the other topic either, but still.

There was something sad but comforting to know that Marco cared so much about Jean's potential love life, but it wasn't like Jean didn't want Marco to be happy. It drove him crazy to think that Marco liked someone else, that he wasn't gay, or that he'd be taken some day by someone who wasn't Jean. But Jean didn't have the rights to anyone else, and more importantly, he didn't have the rights to Marco either.

His heart, or whatever the hell was in his upper chest area, physically ached for a moment when he thought about Marco being with someone else. Not just, sex or whatever, but dating someone that he really liked or maybe even loved. Jean had spent too much time imagining and hoping certain things between him and Marco. He was trying so hard to stay optimistic he sort of forgot that Marco wasn't just going to wait there forever being single until Jean decided he was ready to talk about his feelings. It sent shivers up his spine.

"I want you to be happy." Jean was certain as he said it, but he still felt a little confused and conflicted as to whether he really meant it or not. "You know that, right?" He meant it. He didn't know what exactly it was that would make Marco happy in the way he meant, but he still wanted Marco to have whatever it was that'd make him feel that way.

Marco looked at him for a moment before nodding, "Yeah. Of course. I'm sorry, I guess I just... panicked. I really want you to be happy, too." He sounded so sincere and understanding, it was like Jean had forgotten why he'd fallen in love with Marco in the first place and was just given a sudden reminder. Not like, getting hit by a bus of a reminder, but like, going outside in long sleeves and forgetting that it's spring until a warm day arrives, and it's just a little brighter outside, a little bit warmer than he expected it to be. Maybe he'd formed a crush all those years ago because puberty was wild and Marco was cute and one of Jean's only friends, but that certainly wasn't why Jean loved him.

To avoid things getting strange, or awkward, or to have Jean melt into his emotional desires and demand to be held and kissed all over and told how important he was, Jean looked back at his pile of homework. "Uh, does that mean you can do my do my biology homework?" He looked up again when he heard Marco snort with laughter.

"Uhm, no? I thought you wanted _me_ to be happy? I don't like biology any more than you do." Marco's entire demeanor had relaxed, and not like before when he'd obviously been trying to force himself to at least act natural. Good. Jean didn't like it when he had to watch Marco pretend.

Now Jean could relax, being reassured about most of the situation was fine even if there were still some things he didn't know. Because really, even if Marco didn't want a girlfriend, that didn't mean he wasn't interested in a boyfriend.

* * *

This year just might be one of those years where February, and by extension Valentine's Day, wouldn't be miserable or bitter for Jean. As much as the fakeness of some of the behavior and decorations around him could make him gag, he was content because of his current situation involving Marco. Maybe it was just his imagination that they'd grown a tiny bit closer, but he at least felt less nervous around Marco. Or rather, he didn't get as caught up in distant thoughts of possible good and bad things that could happen between them involving romantic things.

It was still crazy to think that Marco wasn't a virgin anymore, but considering Jean didn't even think about a change in Marco until after Christmas break, he'd come to understand that it didn't change Marco. What was really odd to him was that he'd only just heard about it recently, but he was under the impression that neither Marco or Mikasa had been bragging about it at all.

Part of Jean was tempted to be a snooping little asshole and ask someone other than Marco, like say Armin or maybe even Eren. But things involving either of those two was just a can of worms that he wasn't going to open up. "Strained" was a soft way of putting how Armin was behaving ever since New Year's. Even when Jean tried to deliver Armin's Christmas present to him the first day back from school, he'd heard that Armin actually stayed home. And for the next day and a half Armin wasn't at school either.

Clearly something about Eren's unrequited love and persistence to woo Armin had done something terrible to Armin's mood. Jean hated drama, especially the kind that made him feel bad about his own situation with Marco. So needless to say, he'd been pretty much avoiding most people or conversations that involved romance troubles.

Instead, today everyone was seeking _Jean_ out. Why oh why you may be wondering, would anyone but Jean's closest friends want to be around him all of a sudden? Well, it was the Friday before the Valentine's Day weekend, and it was a little tradition that started back when Jean was in elementary school that had given him a few half-friends to this day.

Strawberry-vanilla-lemon cupcakes. Yeah, they sounded about as good as they tasted. Or was it the other way around? Whatever. When Jean was little and had no friends, his mother had the perfect plan to make him feel better around Valentine's Day when all the kids were doing stupid friendship Valentine's Day things. Make the best god damned cupcakes possible with enough sweat and love put into them to kill a man. Somewhat of a violent description but really, more than one of them would probably give someone a heart attack.

It started off nice, Jean would bring in 3 dozen of these cupcakes, well, his mom would since when he was little he couldn't hold so much weight, but regardless, people loved them. The kids and the adults. And every year Jean's mom would make them and bring them in. Every year. But like with the regular valentines and gifts, it slowed down and got less extravagant with time. In middle school Jean only brought in less than 2 dozen. And now?

Now Jean tortured his friends, teachers, and half-friends by only bringing in 8 every year. People had asked him for the recipe, to make them again through out the year, but the answer was always no. They were hard to make, and his mother created the recipe over a few nights specifically so that Jean could make some more friends since he was so shy and could never find anything to talk about. The need for that was long dead. It was just something they did now for the sake of tradition.

It stung a little that some of his first friends were only friendly toward him for free food, but then again, he was pretty sure that's why he ended up friends with Marco. Free shit. From a nice kid of course but, _free shit_. Whatever. Even now, once February started, a few people who used to "know" him better in the past would make conversation, which would lead to a conversation about the cupcakes.

Jean had already decided who would get what. His mom would of course get one, and so would he. His homeroom teacher, who was kind enough to allow kids to bullshit through any homework they didn't do the night before, would get one. Mikasa, Armin, and Eren would get one, but only because he couldn't give a cupcake to one of them without giving one to all of them. If it were up to him, only Mikasa would get one.

Sasha would get one, because as a cook herself she could fairly appreciate the work that went into such fancy cupcakes. And, she was also one of Jean's few half-friends that respected the fact they weren't all that close anymore and had little in common now that they were older aside from the fact that well, their parents cooked a lot. Really, bake sales at school were always a bit intense between Jean's mother and Sasha's parents.

Last and obviously not the least, Marco would get one. Marco really loved them. Sure, Marco liked chocolate and bananas, but he was very weak for the cupcakes too. Only, there was a bit of a problem. Around lunch period Jean had his last three, the one for him, the one for Sasha, and the one for Marco.

Sasha didn't share their lunch period of course and had to rush to grab and eat her cupcake in the spare few minutes she had before she had to get to her own class. Jean waited for her outside the lunch room that way he'd be easier to find, but she was taking forever to show up. Jean didn't like standing in the hallway with a case of cupcakes. People were staring and it made him apprehensive.

Couldn't everyone just fucking continue on their days like they always did? So what if he had cupcakes? They didn't have to stare him like he was a piece of meat they needed to devour with their eyes. It'd be one thing if his acne were less severe, at least then he could relax or even pretend people were staring because of his cute face.

Seriously though, this was the reason why Jean stopped doing things that brought attention to him at school. He didn't like people staring at him, judging him, probably making fun of his acne and terrible fashion sense. He wanted to got get some damn lunch. He was cranky, and like most people he didn't actually get breakfast in the morning. So having his cupcakes sitting there, taunting him, laughing at him... it was driving him crazy! They were damn good cupcakes, okay? He wanted to eat one too.

And y'know, maybe he wanted to talk to Marco in the lunch room, too. He loved seeing Marco's face when it came to desserts he loved, the disgusting sugar junkie. For someone who eats shit like spinach and beets, Marco did have quite the sweet tooth. Then again, maybe that was why he had a sweet tooth to begin with.

Finally, right about before Jean was ready to give up and find Sasha later to deliver her cupcake, the speed demon herself rounded a corner. She stopped running and started to speed walk once she realized there were teachers watching, but she made a bee line for Jean. Well, not a bee line. A mostly straight line really. Bee lines didn't make sense. The fastest way to get to your destination would to make a straight line, not a bee line. Who coined that term and why?

Whatever, she got there as fast as she could. Jean envied her ability to stay active and eat a lot too, it was like, everyone in the world was enjoying the best things in life while also not being complete wastes of unmoving space half the time. Everyone but him that is.

"Ohh my gosh, okay, sorry! I got here as fast as I could!" Sasha was out of breath as she rested her arm against the wall. "I know. You all do." Jean muttered, rolling his eyes. Anyone who thought they were getting a cupcake always sought Jean out the second they could the school day before/of Valentine's Day. Eugh, it made Jean feel like he was some obscure drug dealer or something.

Jean opened the plastic case and handed one of the cupcakes to Sasha, carefully. They were very delicate things, with perfectly piped frosting and a little candied lemon slice stuck in the side. But they were also kind of heavy, another reason why Jean brought so few to school nowadays. Sasha's eyes practically sparkled as she took it out of Jean's hand, panting, and holding it with both of her hands.

You'd think it was her newborn child or something. She may have loved these things more than anyone else now that Jean thought about it. But of course, the second she went to bite into the side of the cupcake someone ran past and bumped into her, not super hard, but hard enough for her to lose her grip on the cupcake and for it to fall, frosting first on the floor.

They both froze. Jean was pissed, Sasha looked like she was going to cry, and just as Jean thought she might bend down to pick it up someone else who was making their way to lunch pretty fast stepped on the damn thing. Jean was fuming, and he bit down hard on the inside of his lip. He didn't have the personality to scream and yell at people in school who pissed him off, and honestly, he was kind of too shocked to make a choice on what to do.

He looked up at Sasha, who legitimately had tears in her eyes. Oh. No. No no no no no. Jean shook his head and backed away, "Uh, uh-uh, Sasha no. This isn't my fault! Hey! Don't give me that-- Stop!" Now Sasha had her hands clasped together and was giving him a pout. No. Jean couldn't even convince his own mother to make more of them, he wasn't about to give away his or Marco's cupcake just so....

Sasha pulled a bunch of cash out of her pocket and held it up, "Wh-what about, what if I give you money? Huh? Those are my favorite cupcakes in the whole world Jean!" They were only her favorite because she didn't like any other cupcakes. 

Still, Jean saw 2 10's and was fucking sold. "Okay." He muttered as he held his hand out. Why did Sasha have that much money on her? But then Jean thought of a far more important question: Who cares? She could explain that to herself and others whenever she had to. It wasn't his problem.

Hm. Maybe he was a little too much like a drug dealer. And Jean just had to wonder, what did his mother put in the cupcakes anyway? Whatever, Jean loved money. He stuffed the cash into his pocket and re-opened the case, "This is your last one, got it? I don't care if you've got a hundred dollars back there, I need to have at least one of these things." Lie. He would give the cupcake up for 100 dollars no problem.

Sasha nodded, "Yeah I know, I know. Oh my god, thank you!" The second she got her hands on the cupcake she backed up to the wall and shoved half of it in her mouth, giving Jean a thumbs up afterwards. "Glad you're enjoying it. Don't drop it this time, I mean it!" His mom worked so hard on those cupcakes, it was a tragedy that even one was wasted. He gently stepped over the mutilated cupcake carcass, in respect, as he made his way towards the lunch room.

Jean made sure to hold the case very securely as he walked through the lunch room, paranoid that he might get assaulted too, and the last cupcake would be ruined aesthetically. As always, Marco was sitting somewhere near a wall. There was no real reason why they always chose a table near a wall, but it made it easier to decide where to sit and how to find each other. And what a shame, Marco looked so upbeat and excited. Jean was about to break his heart.

"Okay," Jean sighed as he sat in the seat across from Marco, "I've got some bad news." Marco tilted his head slightly to the side, confused. Jean set the case with the single cupcake in it on the table and slowly opened it, "Sasha dropped her cupcake, so--" Marco smiled again, perking up, "So you gave her yours! That's so sweet of you!"

Oh. The poor child. So innocent, so naive. "I gave her, _your_ cupcake. Sorry, but she gave me money." Marco's mouth hung open a little, and he looked like a kicked puppy. His eyes were practically dripping with sadness. Not that he was crying like Sasha had, Marco had more control over himself than she did. But he didn't have to watch his cupcake get thrown to the floor and crushed. "Can I--" Before Marco could finish, Jean had picked up the last cupcake and peeled the paper wrapper down half way, then bit into it.

But no, Jean didn't stop there. He pulled the lemon out of the top and popped it in his mouth, and then licked the entire top of the cupcake. His tongue took a good half of the mountain of frosting with it, and Jean swears he heard Marco whimper. That's when Jean noticed the way Marco's face changed. A little bit of saliva was noticeable on Marco's lips, and he was pulling on the side of his lip with his teeth as he eyeballed the cupcake. "Please...." Marco whispered in such a desperate tone, that it honestly stunned Jean for a second.

Now he was the one who was at a loss for words and in a daze. The idea was to make Marco squirm, and it had completely backfired. Marco looked so, needy and desperate, and his voice, oh god no his _voice_. Jean suddenly wished he could hear Marco like that, to see him like that, in a very different situation. _Fuck_. 

"Okay." Just murmured, handing the cupcake to Marco as quickly as possible.

This certainly wasn't the first time he'd gotten a boner at school, but damn, this had to be one of the weirdest times. For a second he'd actually pictured him being in control of a sexual situation between him and Marco, which really wasn't normal for Jean. He always imagined Marco as being forceful, demanding, and in control in the bedroom. It was always Jean who was the needy, thirsty one that whined and begged for... things, in his fantasies.

Marco bit into the cupcake like it hadn't even been touched, which made Jean think that if Marco had no problem eating something that had a bunch of Jean's spit all over it, then he must've been a kind of person that would be comfortable with making out. Great! Another thing for Jean to fantasize about. And yet, Jean couldn't take his eyes off of Marco and how he slowly and painstakingly devoured that cupcake.

The occasional little moaning sounds wouldn't have been so bad if Jean hadn't already gotten his mind stuck in the gutter, but the worst part was when Jean saw that frosting smeared on Marco's upper lip. The frosting that was white. Jean held his hand to his mouth and bit down on his finger, looking down so that Marco wouldn't see how obviously uncomfortable he was.

"Okay, you're an asshole. But thank you." Jean couldn't even look up as he heard Marco say that, in fear that maybe, even though Marco was done with the cupcake, his mouth might still have some leftovers on it. So to compensate he started to pinch his legs to maybe at the very least, make his boner go away.

He looked up but kept his hand over his mouth, and he hoped he didn't look like the mess he knew he was. Thank God, Marco had licked off any remnants of the cupcake. He was looking fucking ecstatic, too, and Jean hated it. "Wh-whatever." An apology would have been better but Jean was too preoccupied to focus on that. 

Why, why did he have to be such a fucking weakling when it came to things involving sex? How was he supposed act normal around Marco when just the simplest little beg or whimper was gonna throw him over the deep end of sin? Jean was that asshole that even bigger assholes talked about when they said girls needed to dress modestly to keep boys from getting distracted. Except for Jean it was all about Marco and the sounds that _Marco_ made, and no one else. Regardless, Jean was a hot mess and a failure.

But then Marco frowned and leaned on his hand, "Jean, what's wrong? C'mon it's your fault. We could have split it but you just had to tease me." Oh _God_.... Why did he have to say it like that!? Was Jean just imagining that tone in his voice? Did he hear him wrong? Teasing? Jean wasn't really teasing him, no just, well maybe, but saying that word in Jean's current situation was bad.

For a moment Jean imagined himself as the dominant one in a sexual situation with Marco, making him beg, teasing him.... Jean slammed his hand down on his knee and then looked up, sucking in his lips and letting his other hand drop. He shrugged, "Hmm. Mm." He was trying to act like he didn't care about anything, not the cupcake, or Marco's reaction.

Marco's eyes narrowed for a second, but he must not have cared enough to ask. "Alright, how much did she pay you?" Despite still having a boner, Jean tried to act natural anyway, rummaging through this pockets to collect all the cash. That's when he felt something cold in his pocket, and he started blushing. Most of the sexual tension started to drain out of his body as he realized what he was touching, but it was all replaced by nervousness. Embarrassment even.

He pulled everything out of his pocket, and put all the cash on the table. As Marco was counting the money, Jean looked down at the other thing that'd been in his pocket. He'd felt really optimistic and positive about his relationship with Marco, and so he thought he'd get Marco a bit of a cute card for Valentine's Day. It was a $5 gift card to Marco's favorite candy store in the mall. Jean could have afforded 10, but the candy store sold by the pound, and Jean wasn't going to be responsible for Marco having the perfect excuse to buy 5 pounds of various gummy bears and Skittles.

But what was embarrassing was the gift card holder it was in. It was a stupid, dumb, cheesy thing. Sort of like the love letter Jean wrote, but less specific, and less obvious.

'Twizzlers are Red, 

Razzberry is Blue, 

Candy's sweet,

And you are too.'

In the moment it seemed like the perfect gift card holder, okay? Could you blame him? He was in a moment of emotional weakness! "Hey uhm, Marco I, kinda forgot about this. I know it's not Valentine's Day yet but I figured you could go to the mall on Saturday or something and use this." Jean said it quieter than he'd meant to as he slid the gift card across the table.

Marco seemed surprised, but he picked up the little gift card and opened it without a word. As soon as he read it his eyes lit up and he smiled, "Aww, oh, Jean this is so... sweet of you? You didn't have to. I mean, I didn't get you anything special, I thought we were just going to watch Netflix on Sunday and that'd be it. I can get you something tomorrow?"

Jean was relieved to see Marco didn't think it was silly or dumb, but he just shrugged and collected the money. "N-no, it's fine. You don't have to, I just wanted to surprise you with somethin' nice is all." 

Although when Jean glanced up again and saw the look in Marco's eyes and his gentle smile, there wasn't a doubt it in his mind that Marco really did appreciate it. Honestly, Jean could look into Marco's eyes all day and that'd be enough to enjoy his Valentine's Day. Maybe with some snuggling and y'know hand holding to top it off.

Marco looked at Jean and pushed the gift card into his pocket, "I'll get you something. An' you'll love it, I promise." The way he said it made Jean's stomach fill with butterflies, and he hoped that Marco would see all of Jean's blushing as simple shame for not getting a better gift. It was exciting to know that he'd get something nice in return, not that he needed one.

He was just trying to surprise Marco with something small, that's it. And to subtley say how much he cared for and appreciated Marco, but, he wasn't expecting anything like that back. A few months ago he might try to give it to Marco anonymously, like the letter, but Jean didn't feel like he had to hide small things like it from him anymore. It would be nice though, to get something equal to it in return. It'd probably the best surprise Jean could get.

* * *

All the reassuring words, positive reinforcement, and true facts in the world couldn't triumph over erratic teenage hormones and curiosity. That coupled with Jean's own unwarranted paranoia and inconsistent levels of self esteem, made it hard for him to ignore what had been creeping up on him over the course of the week; Marco's apparently "non-existent love life".

He got it, Marco wasn't looking for a relationship, and Marco didn't _like_ like Mikasa. But he liked her enough to have sex with her, and since Jean hadn't been able to get any details out of Marco he had no choice but to ignore it for as long as possible. Or come up with his own explanations based off what he did know, but Jean was trying to avoid that. Like the gardening hose thing.

What was it that Mikasa had said or done to make Marco, who sometimes gets uncomfortable with implied sex scenes in movies and T.V., actually have sex? It wasn't like Jean didn't think Marco wanted sex, because in all honesty, just because someone doesn't talk about something and doesn't like looking at something, doesn't necessarily mean they don't still want it.

That and, Jean knows for sure that Marco isn't as innocent and naive as he used to think he was. Which kind of stung, knowing that Marco did things and thought things without telling Jean, until recently anyway. Not the point, but regardless Jean didn't feel all that bad. It wasn't like he told Marco everything either. He fears the day Marco ever finds out what _other_ fun stuff he shoved up his ass.

The _point_ , was that Jean had been trying to do his homework in the privacy of his own room, when he realized how uncomfortable his legs were. Today they were especially itchy, and he figured it was just his pants were either dirty or shrunk just a little bit in the wash, so he took them off. And that's when he got the near-perfect sight of his legs.

How many months? How long had he left them unattended to? All through autumn and straight through winter. Long enough for the hair to grow longer than Jean normally would let them. He still hadn't been able to pick up a razor to simply cut the little demons down and wash them down the drain, and he still hadn't found another way to get rid of the hair. 

He'd tried individually plucking them once, until he did some research on how many hairs were probably on his leg. No one has the time for plucking that much hair. No one.

Jean couldn't remember the last time he saw Mikasa lacking confidence in her appearance. Shaving was always a personal thing for Jean, it wasn't to make anyone else happy or to avoid judgement from people in the summer. It was always because he hated looking down at his legs and seeing what looked like someone stuck tiny spider legs all over his own. They were gross, annoying, ugly, useless, inconvenient, and the list goes on.

How could Jean expect any relationship to work out when he couldn't even take care of himself? If he couldn't even keep his own legs the way he liked them, how could he accept anyone else liking them? Sure his legs weren't perfectly toned like Marco's, but he thought that at least, without the hair, they were pretty damn amazing legs. 

He chewed on the inside of his mouth and ran his hand up and down one of his legs. No, things had gone on long enough and Jean couldn't keep ignoring the problem anymore. He set his pen down and got up with a very important goal in mind; Get the disgusting hair off his legs so he could stop feeling the need to compare himself to a _girl_. 

Jean had nothing against girls, he liked them, he even thought they were usually more attractive than guys. But he'd be lying if he said it didn't bother him that Mikasa of all the girls in school, was the person to make Marco step outside his comfort zone in such a huge and personal way. She had to have been incredibly convincing, not that it was much of a stretch with how confident and attractive she was. Jean just wasn't like that.

The thought almost made him kind of angry as he walked to the bathroom. He knew Marco wasn't automatically straight just because he had sex with a girl. Jean was weak, and he'd have sex with the first attractive girl or guy who asked. But that didn't mean he didn't still love Marco. And his love for Marco didn't change the fact that Jean still liked girls, too.

Jean was frustrated, rummaging around the bathroom in his underwear like he'd lost his contacts or something. He didn't want to think negative things about this, not now, not after the good day he'd just had. Not after hearing how much Marco loved the stupid little gift Jean had gotten him for Valentine's Day.

He checked in the linen closet, under the bathroom sink, on the shelves above the toilet, and everywhere else in and around the bathroom he could think to find something other than a razor to get rid of his hair. His shoulders were tense and he felt awkward, nervous even.

Because he _had_ to get this done. It'd make him feel so much better if he could just not worry about it, but he'd ignored his leg hair for too long, and he couldn't help but feel pressured to make them look good.

Who was going to like him simply because he shaved his legs? Probably no one important, but it was the little things that counted. That and, Jean felt better when he looked better, and everyone liked someone who's less insecure and more positive. There was nothing wrong with wanting to look good if it killed two birds with one stone anyway.

Stressed beyond what was entirely necessary, Jean huffed as he sat down on the toilet, the lid shifting awkwardly from how hard and fast he'd plopped down. He really was trying to calm down, taking a deep breath and rubbing his face to try and keep himself from getting into the huffy puffy and whiny attitude he got when he didn't get his way.

But then he imagined what it must have looked like, Marco touching Mikasa's perfectly smooth, shaved legs. What it must have felt like to be in her position. The idea made Jean's back tingle, but it also felt like his skin was crawling. He rolled his shoulders to get the sensation to go away, sighing. 

He wasn't even sure if Mikasa shaved her legs all the time, he just assumed she did because that's what girls tended to _do_. It's what Jean tried to do, even if it was just a preference he'd decided for himself.

There was only one other place Jean could think to look for something to get rid of his leg hair, but Jean didn't try to worry too much as he got up and left the bathroom. As much as Jean wanted to respect privacy and not cause Hell to break loose in his own house, he knew that Hitch, despite how much he went out of his way to not see her, must have had personal bath products in her room. Their main bathroom just didn't have the space to hold everything a woman could need in one.

He'd left his phone in his room so he couldn't check the time, but he didn't think Hitch would ever come home early on a Friday. His house was just a place to sleep some nights for her, but primarily storage the rest of the time. At least that's how Jean saw things.

It wasn't like he was going to start digging through her dresser and ripping shit out of her closet, but Jean wasn't just looking around either, he touched and moved a few things, sure, but he put everything back to the way he remembered it was. One thing he did not like about Hitch's room was the smell. Perfumes, body spray, air freshener, whatever it was, it smelled like the perfume section of Macy's but less high quality. Like, JCPenny's perfume section maybe?

A person obsessed with smelling and looking good had to have move than one option for body hair removal than just razors, right? Jean knew that hand-held laser hair removal things existed, he'd seen them on T.V. late at night when he was doing homework or blowing his sleep time away on the internet.

Then, Jean spotted a plastic basket on the floor with a sponge loofah hanging out of it. It was one of those cheap Walmart shower caddies that Jean always felt were just a bit too over priced for a glorified bucket. But whatever, Jean wasn't here to judge, he was here to steal things to make himself feel better about himself.

He bent down and carefully took things out of the basket one by one, so he'd remember which order to put them back in afterwards. And as luck would have it, he found a box of waxing strips underneath all the miscellaneous bath products. He squinted, skeptical of the package. He knew what waxing was, there was a salon in Walmart that did lip waxing in the front all the time, he just didn't realize there were wax _strips_. He'd always seen waxing as something where hot wax was slathered all over someone and then paper was stuck on and ripped off.

But whatever, this just made things more convenient for Jean. He put everything back in the basket aside from the box of waxing strips and headed back towards the bathroom. It'd be easier if he could do it in his room, where there was more space on the floor to sit, but Jean didn't want to risk the wax getting on the carpet and making a huge mess.

He closed and locked the bathroom door ass soon as he got in and sighed, turning over the box to skim through the instructions. Jean heard that some one died because they waxed wrong and like, got an infection or something, and he wasn't about to let that be him just because he was too impatient to read the directions right.

The gist of it was to pull in the opposite direction the hair grew, and to not use it on hair that's ridiculously long. Jean could manage that, and so he grabbed a towel from the towel rack and tossed it on the floor for him to sit on. But when Jean opened the box, he realized there weren't many strips missing. If it was new then maybe Hitch would realize there were a bunch missing the next time she went to use them....

Oh well, too bad. Jean couldn't touch a razor and he needed this done, so he made himself comfortable on the towel and pushed one fear out of his mind to focus on getting rid of another. He pulled one of the strips out of the box and slowly pulled the plastic half off of the waxed paper half. They smelled awful. There was no way Jean could describe it, it was like, plastic, baby powder, and glue. But it looked just like a band-aid. Hopefully it wouldn't be as painful as a band-aid though.

Jean bent his left leg and carefully lined up the strip with where the top of his knee began, then slowly smoothed it down on his leg. It felt weird and kind of warm, but maybe that was just because the bathroom was cold. He took a deep breath and held his leg with his right hand, and then grabbed the base of the paper with his left. All he had to do was yank it upwards as fast as possible, and then that'd be that! Simple.

In one quick motion he pulled off the strip. "Oww! _Fuck._ " He hissed at the pain, upset that it was similar to a band-aid but relieved that the pain wasn't lasting. However when he went to touch the spot he'd waxed, he saw a little bit of redness and some leftover wax on his skin. He tried touching it and his skin felt fine, but the leftover wax? It was sticky, and he couldn't wipe it off on the towel.

He breathed out an exasperated sigh and shook his head, but he decided he'd just shower afterwards and get rid of any gross leftovers. At least it was actually getting the hair off.

All Jean could think about as he waxed different spots on his legs, was about what people must really like. He didn't know what kinds of things Marco found attractive, and he wasn't sure what people in general liked in men. Aside from muscles and facial hair of course, but Jean didn't have either of those. And why would he? He was 16. So, what did people like in 16 year old teenage boys? Jean's standards were as generic as they got, he just wished he fit that bill himself.

Jean felt like he was healthy enough, and nice enough anyway. Sort of. He knew something about him wasn't as good as it could have been, more than other people. His all around personality, maybe? Who knows. He liked people who were at the very least, conventionally attractive. He didn't have very high standards past that, so was he just interested in a league too far above his own? Or was he doing something wrong?

And when he was finally done with his legs, he rubbed his fingers in all the spots that didn't have any wax left on them. Nice and smooth, just like shaving. His legs felt a little tingly but he decided it was just from the pain or something.

It wasn't enough though, not for Jean. Thinking about how much other people had, and what little Jean could offer in comparison made him think about the other hair on his body. His armpits and of course, everything surrounding his dick. There was no way he could only clean up his legs and leave the rest of his body alone.

Girls shaved their legs, Jean understood that, so then if they couldn't stand the needle thin baby blondes on their legs, how could they stomach the thick and dark spider legs in between their legs? Seriously, Jean didn't get the point of pubic hair anyway. What did it do? Be itchy and disgusting? Thousands of years of evolution and Jean's lucky enough to be born in a time with spider legs scratching at his dick.

Whether or not Mikasa was the type of girl to shave everywhere wasn't even a big part of the deal, Jean just didn't want to ignore something that already bothered him, even if it wouldn't really bother anyone else. Sure, his dick was not big enough to win any awards but at least, _at least_ , if he could ever get to the point of wooing someone they couldn't shoot him down for having hair on him or for feeling weird about his own body.

It'd been so long since he'd shaved them away though, and even back when he did shave regularly, he normally didn't shave his pubes unless they'd gotten exceptionally annoying or long. He'd definitely have to cut them down first and then wax. Jean groaned as he stood back up and threw away all the trash. He knew there were hair scissors in the bathroom, he saw them when he was looking for hair removal stuff before.

"Ahah!" Jean pulled the scissors from a shelf on the wall triumphantly, and promised to either burn, bury, or soak them in chemicals after he was done. He set them on the sink counter and pulled his boxers down, shaking them off his ankles afterwards. Jean shivered at the cold before sitting back down on the towel, making a mental note to turn the heat up a little later.

He spread his legs and blew air out his nose, glaring down at the mess of curled, bent out of shape, thick black hair. But staring at them forever wasn't going to make them go away, so Jean just snatched the scissors from the sink counter and used his free hand to grab a small bunch of hair. It hurt to pull on them and twist the hair around one of his fingers to keep them still, but Jean wanted to trim them as short as possible. He just hoped that it wasn't going to hurt more, since the skin was definitely more sensitive than what was on his lower legs. Even his inner thighs were probably a bit too sensitive to wax.

Bunch by bunch, Jean had made a disgusting little pile of long hairs next to him on the towel, and he wished he could speed things up, but he didn't want to accidentally stab his dick with the thin hair scissors. That would not have been a fun thing to explain to a 911 operator. It'd be less embarrassing than all his makeshift dildo stories, but it'd still be bad. It'd be an even worse story to tell anyone he had sex with. How would anyone explain why they had an ugly scar on their genitals without it being weird?

Jean got it done though. Or as done as he was going to get it without risking nicking his own skin in the process. He decided to do it in small patches, so he cut part of a waxing strip off the main strip for a test spot near his abdomen. It seemed like a good spot, it had some of the shortest hairs already there when he'd begun trimming. He peeled off the plastic and was careful to put it in place. Accidentally getting it, or any wax for that matter, on his dick would be a problem.

He smoothed it down with his finger, and then he held his breath as he held his skin tightly with one hand, and grabbed the corner of the paper with the other. It'd be just like his legs, he just needed to use smaller, more precise pieces now. He knew the hairs would probably be less easy to release from his skin because they were so thick, so he couldn't try to take it slow to lessen the pain otherwise it probably wouldn't work.

Whatever he'd been expecting, the anticipation wasn't helping anyone, and so he yanked it as fast he could, "Owww! Whaat the _fuck_!?" It hurt. It hurt so bad and it stung and it burned and it felt like someone had ripped the skin right off of him. It hurt so much that he felt his eyes tear up a little, and the shock and cause his leg to twitch and fall, kicking the sink cabinet and hurting his toes.

"What the fucking, _shit_ , that hurt...." He whispered to himself as he looked at the piece of the wax strip. It was covered in hair, so it did it's job, right? No. Not right. Jean went to rub his hand against the sore skin, only to feel wax covered hairs, and he noticed how red and irritated his skin looked. Then he looked closer, and saw little red dots.

Blood, great. Just great. It wasn't enough that he'd have to wipe it away, but it was clear that the wax strip had pulled off the amazing feat of working so well it ripped some of the skin surrounding his hair follicles out, but also so bad it couldn't even pull a good third of the hairs up and just left them covered in sticky wax.

Jean wiped the couple of tears from his eyes and tossed the used wax strip in the trash. Women _did this_? On a at least, yearly basis? What was that saying Jean had heard, "beauty is pain"? Well kudos to women for being fucking masochists, because this had to be the most ridiculously painful hair removal ever. But maybe, it was just a fluke? Maybe he'd pressed it down too hard, or he pulled it too hard. There was still a lot of hair to get rid of....

Once again, Jean cut a piece of the wax strip off, peeled it, and placed it in the same spot again. He didn't press it down as hard, and he pulled it with less force. He whimpered and clenched his teeth, looking down to see that it'd barely taken any hair with it, and now there was even more wax slathered around. He'd made an already sensitive and wounded section of his skin burn even worse, and he hated it.

This was bullshit. The box _said_ he could use it everywhere but his face! What did it only work for women? No dude pubes allowed, or something? The hair couldn't be that different. Jean moved to toss the second waxing strip piece in the trash but the force of the air flipped it back and it got on his palm. He frustratingly pulled it off his hand and slapped it into the trash, determined now to just get things over with.

So it didn't work the second time, why would it? His skin was sore and burning there. Jean had about half of the one strip left, and decided to simply apply the whole thing to the other section of hair that was closest to his stomach. And he pulled, and it hurt, this time not even taking much hair with it. What was he doing _wrong_? Why wasn't it working? And there was wax everywhere! How was he supposed to get it off?

He tried pulling at the hair with his own fingers, but it only hurt and got wax and small bits of hair all over his fingers. They looked even more disgusting when they were stuck together like someone had put some beetles in a blender and pulsed them for a bit. Jean fought back the tears of pain and threw the wax strip and all of the plastic coatings into the trash can. When he stood up, some of the wax on the edges near his legs ended up touching his inner thighs and transferring some of the wax onto them. Lovely.

Jean didn't want to risk trying anymore, he just wanted to get all the wax off of him and be done with it. He turned the sink on first, trying to wash the wax off with warm water and soap. It just wasn't working though. "Ugghn! What the fuck is this shit _made_ out of!?" Jean smacked the faucet handle off aggressively and moved to pull his shirt off, then threw it on the floor.

A shower. That's what he needed, a scalding hot shower that could get all this damn wax off his body and so that he could just calm the hell down. He grabbed a washcloth from the sink cabinet, slapped the shower curtain to the side, and spun the water handle all the way to the red side as far as it could go. Jean couldn't even wait for the water to turn completely hot though, he just stepped in and stayed on his knees.

Sitting down would be a bad thing. If the water washed off the wax and it went down, it'd just get on his dick and his balls and well, with Jean's luck it'd probably get on the hairs near his asshole. And he definitely did not want to have to get scalding hot water to blast all over any of those things.

Jean winced as he started to wipe the most sensitive and damaged area with the wet, hot wash cloth. He'd really love to give it a break, but he couldn't just let the tiny open wounds stay clogged with wax. That just couldn't be safe. But no matter hard he scrubbed the wax just wasn't washing away, and so Jean did yet another thing he didn't want to do to his poor patch of skin; Add soap to it. Luckily it didn't sting as much, but it still hurt as he aggressively scrubbed the area in every direction he could.

Hot showers were supposed to be relaxing, but he was just frustrated, worried, and all around stressed. The soap wasn't working much either, and so Jean frantically looked around at all the many bottles and tubes in the shower for something with more strength. Anything that wasn't a harmful chemical cleaner anyway. 

Mr. Clean Magic Erasers could probably get the job done, but not without giving Jean a horrible rash or chemical burn, or something. Or maybe not, but he wasn't stupid enough to try it.

He spotted some kind of extra exfoliating foot scrub, and decided to go with that. Surprisingly enough, it didn't sting any more than the soap did. Jean scrubbed at all of the wax as hard as he could, making sure to rinse the washcloth with hot water as often as possible. It was working, finally, it was _working_.

But it was still so hard, and he had to scrub his skin so hard it was all turning red. What was left on his legs, the small bits on his thighs, his hand, they were all bright red and burning by the time he was even sure the wax was starting to come off.

Jean's knees hurt from kneeling for so long, and even when he switched from only kneeling on one leg to scrub the other, it wasn't enough of a break to make them stop hurting. It was relieving that he was finally getting rid of the wax, but it was such a struggle. Every time he went to rinse off, he'd realize there was still some wax left, and he had to go back to scrubbing again. The washcloth was covered in wax, making Jean have to rearrange the way he was holding it so that he was actually cleaning more wax off than putting any back on.

He tried to keep his cool and not freak out, but all of this pain was for what? Why'd he end up putting himself through the trouble? Because he couldn't stand his body hair any longer? God it just was not worth it. He might just have to go back to shaving if this was his only alternative. The water had gone from nice and hot to room temperature, and that was a generous estimate. Jean was so exhausted, but he did need to shower with proper soap and water.

Standing up to be greeted with such cold water was almost depressing. It was like instead of a washcloth he'd been using sand paper, and while the cold water was helping with that, the skin above his dick where the wax had pulled hair out so hard it ripped the follicles right out with it still hurt like a bitch. He couldn't help but touch it, worried that he hadn't gotten all the wax off.

Washing his body with barely warm water, sore and exhausted, Jean just couldn't keep it together. He'd put himself in this spot, but it wasn't like it was going to change anything. He was so _upset_ as he ran the new washcloth over his body and felt everything. 

His skinny arms, the oils that were all over his upper back and shoulders, how he'd put too much deodorant on in the morning and it just didn't want to wash out of his armpits, and of course his legs. They may have been perfect to Jean without hair, but were they really anything special when compared to say, Marco's?

Jean was _nothing special_ and he felt his eyes tingle and his skin start to feel itchy like he just needed to go back over it all with that hot washcloth again. He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't, he wouldn't. He refused to. He was just upset. He was just frustrated with the stupid wax. He was in pain because of it and that's all, he didn't need to cry over it.

But the more Jean thought about things, it occurred to him that he just wasn't like, _them_. Envy? Jealousy? Wistfulness? Whatever it was, Jean just felt like he didn't have what everyone else seemed to have. He wasn't as good as people like Mikasa and Marco so he'd never end up having sex with anyone like them. Maybe. Probably not?

He wasn't as attractive as they were, he wasn't strong like Mikasa or scarily empathetic like Marco, he wasn't confident or outgoing or even that friendly to begin with, really. Jean wasn't going to have sex, not with people like them, he wasn't like that. Especially not when Jean couldn't even get a date, or be asked out, or have someone send him sweet love letters or try to make him feel more special than he probably was.

Of course _they_ weren't perfect, and they had their bad hair days, their bad moods, their shitty opinions and horrible advice, but those weren't their best qualities. No one had to focus on those things. If Jean had any "best qualities", they weren't good enough. Not to him anyway, so why should they be to anyone else who's got a dazzling personality _and_ good looks to top it off?

If even people like Armin could get asked out, even if it was just by someone like Eren, and Jean was still somehow lonely and completely lost as to what it must feel like to experience any those things....

Jean breathed through his nose and kept squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn't going to break down and get overly upset about things that he was probably blowing out of proportion. He tossed his other washcloth to the floor and rushed to get shampoo in his hair. The water felt even colder on his head, and so he didn't even wet it enough to make a lot of suds with his shampoo, and he tried his best not to scrape at his scalp as opposed to gently rubbing the shampoo through his hair like people are supposed to.

He rinsed his hair as fast as he could, sloppily shaking his hands through his hair as the cold water continued to bother his head more than the rest of his body. The worst part was having to stand there and move around, lifting his arms and swatting away the leftover suds as they ran down his body with the water that was only getting colder.

With just as much frustration as he'd turned the sink off, Jean quickly twisted the shower dial off and pushed the shower curtain open again. He sighed out of his mouth but made a better effort to just breathe through his nose. Huffing and puffing and scoffing was only going to upset him more, and he just wanted to go lay down and _maybe_ pretend he was studying before his mom came home from work.

He felt his fists clench when he stepped out of the shower and saw the pile of trimmed hair on the towel that was on the floor. It wasn't like he could just leave it there, so Jean's solution was to lift the toilet lid and shake the towel above it, letting as much of the clingy hairs fall into the toilet as he could before lowering the lid again and flushing the hairs away. The towel would just have to be washed later. For now he just bunched it up and tossed it into a corner of the bathroom as he grabbed yet another towel from the towel rack.

Of course, as he started to dry off he realized there were a few spots he'd actually missed when scrubbing the hell out of his legs, but he had too much pent up frustration to even consider hopping back in the shower. Instead he ignored it and wrapped the towel around him, picked up his clothes, and left the bathroom to go change.

Jean couldn't dry his hair fast enough once he got back into his room. Every time he went to sleep with wet hair and it was cold, he'd wake up with a killer headache. That was the last fucking thing he needed in his life right now.

All of his clothes and the towel got tossed into the pile of dirty clothes in his room, including his pants. Jean just wanted to feel clean, was that such a crime? Besides, pajamas were more comfortable anyway and they'd feel nice on his legs now that they were finally free of hair. Had it been a better day, Jean might spend the time to touch his legs and marvel at how soft skin could be once you removed all the unnecessary parts.

But today had become a shit day, and Jean just wanted to get past it. He wanted to stop feeling stupid self pity, over things that deep down he knew he'd eventually realize he didn't need to freak out as much as he had. About not being able to be like Mikasa or Marco, just because they happened to both be attractive in a multitude of ways and just happened to fuck each other one time.

"Oh, fuck me." Jean muttered as he remembered that he'd left the box of waxing strips and hair scissors on the bathroom floor. As much as he'd love to watch T.V. or fuck around on the internet, Jean couldn't just leave those things there to be definite future questions by either his mother or their resident freeloader.

When Jean was fully dressed he walked back into the bathroom and decided to just toss both the scissors and the box of waxing strips into the back of the sink cabinet. He didn't have time to carefully put the box back or to clean up the scissors, but they had to be out of the way. It was when he stood up and saw himself in the bathroom mirror though, that he realized he forgot to wash his face in the shower since he'd been so upset.

Only now, Jean was still very upset. It hit him like a punch he hadn't seen coming, despite the fact that he always knew it was there. His _face_. His face. God no, no no no, nonono not his _face_. He couldn't deal with it right now. He couldn't he just wasn't going to. It usually did so well in the winter, had it really gotten so warm in February? That was just it though, that was his problem. That was why he didn't have "it".

An acceptable face that didn't crush his self esteem. From spring through summer and even a bit into autumn if the weather was right, he had to have such terrible acne. Winter was the best his face ever got, and yet even in the winter he still had it, and it just wasn't good enough. How could it be? Jean felt his chest tighten and his throat hurt, and his eyes begin to tingle again, although it was harder to see this time with the tears. He couldn't stand it.

Unable to calm down for the life of him, Jean pulled a washcloth from the sink cabinet and turned the sink on hot. It still had hot water, thankfully, and a lot of it. Jean held the washcloth under the hot water until it was soaking wet and his own hand hurt from the excessive heat, and gritted his teeth as he started to wipe his face with it.

Everybody could understand and see that his face was gross and his acne was nasty to look at, but nobody understood it better than Jean did. No one could possibly understand unless they had to deal with it too, which of course, no one he knew did.

Flawless, that's how he'd describe anyone's face. A few pimples here and there, maybe a big nasty one sometimes, that's what everyone else had to deal with, that was the worst thing people like Marco had to worry about.

Jean got the whole _package_! The oil all over his face that was greasy and made him shudder on the inside when he made the mistake of scratching an itch on his face. The disgusting dead skin that flaked off or even worse, caked on with the oil to make a disgusting build up of crap that Jean could only scrape off with a washcloth. 

Everything from the tiny little blackheads that people probably didn't notice, to the clusters of raised dots that came in all kinds of fun sizes and a wonderful pick between white pus or red. They were disgusting and annoying and Jean could never get rid of them all.

The ones that hurt so bad Jean couldn't even touch his face, and sometimes ones that started deep underneath his skin and took forever to get to the surface. And the ones that Jean couldn't resist scratching at because they were just so itchy, or the ones that were just a bit too sensitive and he'd accidentally popped by brushing against them with his fingers just a little too hard.

And the scars, all the little scars that permanently darkened bits of his face because he just couldn't stop popping the bloodier of his pimples. Those stayed forever as a reminder that he'd just fucked up a little bit too much with his face 1 time, or 20 times, or however many times, Jean never started counting back when he was younger. He had no idea he'd ever need to.

He'd always been told that he'd get zits in puberty, and everyone always tried to act like they weren't that bad or that it was okay, because they knew how Jean felt because maybe they had one bad breakout in their life. But they just didn't _understand_ and they probably didn't even want to believe the truth; That Jean's acne was disgusting and it bothered them at least half as much as it bothered him.

Jean had scrubbed his face so hard that it turned red, and a few dots around his face had become dots of blood. Pimples, big and small, that he'd roughed up so hard they popped and were bleeding from how much pressure and heat he'd been putting all over his face. He tossed the washcloth back in the sink and pumped some Clean&Clear into his hands, quickly rubbing his hands together and then all over his face.

He didn't pay attention to it but he'd been trembling, and he'd been sniffling, and he had just kicked himself so much and was so exhausted emotionally and physically he just _couldn't handle it_. Jean rinsed the soap off his face as fast as he could, trying to ignore the heat of the water and the pain he'd brought down on himself. All of it. His fault. 

Surprise surprise the big whiny over emotional cry baby who cares too much about what other people think pushed himself into another breakdown for a stupid reason!

At least he, tried, right? He tried not to cry over something that must have been stupid. But he couldn't help it, as he rinsed the last of the soap off his face and had to face the fact that his acne just wasn't changing any time soon. His chest that had been so tight and his throat that had been tense, had relaxed now that Jean was a whining red faced heaving mess. He didn't want to look at himself crying, but he kept trying to wipe the tears from his eyes anyway.

Jean sulked back to his room trying to stifle his crying and wiping his eyes the whole time, and he crawled into his bed almost immediately. It just wasn't _fair_. It wasn't fair that he had gross acne, and no talents, and a personality that wasn't charming or generally interesting. He felt so stupid and shitty for worrying about what Mikasa supposedly had that Jean didn't, when it was so obvious it was simply what she _didn't_ have that was probably the big picture.

Was it wrong that he tried to ignore his own acne for once, to just try and reason with himself that it wasn't the only thing people cared about? Even particularly ugly people had the leg up on Jean so long as they didn't have acne. They were so lucky, all of them, not having to worry about something like acne constantly. 

Not having to feel a sense of paranoia every time a certain myth was mentioned about how to get rid of acne. Drink more water. Don't eat dairy. Use a 3 step face care routine. Use some fancy water from a plant you've never heard of on your face at 4 a.m. every day.

Jean had no reason to not let himself cry and throw himself a pity party, other than his pride that told him he had to stop doing stupid shit like this over stupid things he couldn't change. But he couldn't keep trying to shut his mouth and steady his breathing for very long, and so at some point Jean just ended up wailing into his pillow and occasionally hyperventilating. He wished he looked nice. He wanted to look nice. He'd been a reasonably cute kid growing up but then puberty fucked that whole thing up.

He was just one of those hideous people and he'd have to learn to live with that, huh? He wasn't attractive, or cute, or hot, definitely not like Marco. And probably not what Marco would like either.

Jean couldn't imagine anyone really wanting to kiss someone with as much acne as he had. Everyone always says it's what's on the inside that counts, but Jean's not a complete idiot. He knows, he understands, that that's just not true. Everyone cares about how people look, and Jean's got more than just a few zits or the occasional bad break out. It's how he looks every day, all the time. It wasn't like he could just wait for winter to try hitting on people or to hope other people would do so for him.

It was awful and it made his chest ache, like he'd lost something and he didn't know how to pick himself up and kick his whiny baby ass back into reality where it didn't matter. His face was so red now, and it wasn't even because of the popped pimples or the hot water scrubbing he'd done. It was just the crying now. The sniffling, whimpering, and long drawn out sobs into his pillow. Because every time he might have been calming down he just went and thought about how he'd never be able to fix his face, and it just wound him back up again like a mediocre Burger King kid's meal toy.

Still, Jean didn't want to feel this way forever. He didn't want to go to sleep later feeling like shit. He knew he was being stupid and over emotional and that there were far better reasons to cry than _this_ , and maybe in any other situation he wouldn't have broken down like the emotional crybaby that he was. But it was almost Valentine's Day, and it seemed like his own body decided to betray him just in time for Jean to see how much better luck everyone else had with romance.

If there was anyone who could help him calm down, or feel slightly better about himself, it was Marco. But now just wasn't the time for that, because Jean absolutely despised having other people see, hear, or even know that he was crying. It made him feel childish and petty, and who likes that aside from actual children who only cry because they know it's how to get the attention they want?

Marco wasn't the kind of person to cry, either. Maybe it was just because of the way he was raised or that's just how he was built, but Jean hadn't seen Marco in a full on ugly crying fit in _years_. Letting Marco know that he was crying at all made Jean feel inferior, like he hadn't grown up right and he wasn't as mature as Marco was or something. He didn't want pity, or coddling, or the awkwardness that came with having to explain and somehow justify why he was crying in the first place.

They'd already talked and cleared the air and gotten to a good spot on the subject of Marco's wild little not-so-secret sexcapade with Mikasa. Jean said he wasn't mad, he said it didn't bother him, and he was only going to make Marco feel awkward and guilty if Jean called him up bawling his eyes out because boo hoo, Marco was attractive enough to have sex with a pretty girl and Jean wasn't.

Right about now Jean could really use some of Marco's obligatory encouragement though, or a hug. Maybe some cuddling. And kissing, too. But absolutely _none of that_ was gonna happen. Certainly not today. Jean didn't want any sweet cuddles with Marco to happen out of sadness and pity, God no, screw that.

Armin was the only other person Jean could really vent to, not that he wanted to or thought it was a brilliant idea, but no one else knew he liked guys. Well, some people on the internet did, but Jean's vented on the internet before and he only ever got 1 of 2 responses; "Aww :(" and "I don't care". Both of which pissed Jean off to no end.

Sure, the only thing romance-related Jean would ever get out of Armin was terrible advice and ignorant opinions that no one wanted to hear, but he didn't need someone to give him those things. All Jean needed was someone to vent to who actually cared about him and would somewhat understand the context of the problem he was facing.

He just hoped that Armin was willing to listen. After what had happened on New Year's, Armin had sort of apologized for how Eren ruined Jean's terrible plan to confess his own feelings to Marco. Jean knew it wasn't Armin's fault and didn't really blame him for what happened, but Armin seemed so frazzled about the whole thing. Not to mention, anyone with two eyes and one working ear could tell that things between Eren and Armin weren't the same anymore.

Jean had tried his best to ignore them both if they were together, so he wasn't sure how far New Year's night had cut a wedge between the two of them, but Armin always looked strained and distant if he was in the same room as Eren. Hopefully though, it didn't mean that Armin was totally against listening to someone else vent about their problems. Hell, maybe Armin would actually like it. Maybe he'd view Jean's situation as worse and it'd make him feel better about his own problem.

He tried to take a deep breath, although it was interrupted by his own hiccuping, and got off his bed to grab his phone from the mess of school supplies that was left untouched on the floor. He sniffled a few times and unlocked it before quickly dialing Armin's number. Every ring felt like an eternity, and Jean was already impatient and moody as it was.

"Hi! This is Armin, I can't get to my phone right now because I'm probably busy doing homework! If you're calling because you need help with your homework, I can't help you. My own homework takes up most of my time, sorry!"

It had to be the weirdest voicemail Jean had ever heard. Armin must have changed it, because Jean remembers the last time he called him without an answer, and nothing about the message had anything to do with homework. Maybe it was Armin's way of avoiding Eren, but even that seemed a bit far fetched.

Jean decided to text Armin instead, to tell him that he needed someone to talk to about Marco over the phone with. Whatever Armin was avoiding, how could he turn down the opportunity to stick his nose into someone else's business _without_ getting yelled at for being nosy?

It gave him time to calm down a bit, and within the next couple of minutes Jean got a call from Armin, which he answered immediately of course, "H-hey." His voice cracked and he nearly had a sniffling fit, but at least he wasn't bawling his eyes out anymore.

"Hi. What's up?" Armin sounded perfectly natural, no surprise. Jean was grateful that they weren't talking face to face. Between his ugly crying and the subject at hand, he wouldn't have been able to handle Armin's judgmental or analytic looks.

He promised Marco that he wouldn't tell anyone, and Jean was going to live up to that promise, but if Armin had already heard about it at school then it wouldn't be a problem so long as he didn't confirm that what Armin heard was true. He could just act dumb and pretend he was upset over the possibility of it being true. "Have you uh-uhm, heard what some people are saying? About M-Marco?"

If only his voice didn't shake and tremble, making him sound like a complete idiot. But that was the price to pay for having a total melt down. At least with little crying the worst thing that could happen was a red face and _maybe_ puffy eyes for a bit.

"Oh. That. Yeah, why?" Did he... seriously just ask that? Why? _Why?_ There were all kinds of reasons for someone in Jean's position to be upset about it, that's why. "I? Because I _l-love_ him?" He was jealous, for one. Not in the way most people would think, but that seemed like the obvious conclusion someone like Armin would come to.

Armin was silent for a bit, but Jean could hear the occasional breath that was just a bit too loud. Maybe he had a cold and only one of his nostrils was clear, or he was upset about something. Probably Eren being Eren again. "Look Jean, I'm sorry. I get that you, love him, but I'm already dealing with enough from this and I'm sorry that I didn't tell you but you've _got_ to understand that I couldn't just do that to Mikasa."

Okay. Jean really felt like he was missing something here, and he tried to think about it for a moment but Armin interrupted him. "Jean?" Processing. Processing. Thinking. Processing. Jean was still trying to put things together. It was like his mind was fried from crying so much.

"What are you t-talking about? You mean, you _knew_? Like you knew, b-before I did?" Okay. Okay, that didn't bother him, not that much. It wasn't like Marco was the only source of information on things. Mikasa was kind of there too, she probably confirmed the nasty rumors for Armin already. And that was fine. Why would Jean be upset that Armin didn't tell him? That's, private shit. Jean wasn't going to tell anyone about it either.

"Wait I-- ...Didn't you talk to Marco? He said you knew about it already." Armin's sounded rather confused, and Jean honestly had no clue as to why.

"Marco talked to you? About this? Wh-why?" Now they both sounded completely confused, like they'd been speaking in different languages that neither of them understood.

More silence. Or rather, silence interrupted periodically by Jean's sniffles and hiccups, and Armin's strange occasional breaths that were louder than normal. Jean didn't like it, so he tried to put his paranoid brain to work to come up with some kind of answer. "We talked a few days ago? How long did'you know?" He didn't like the theories his brain was coming up with, they were all absurd beyond even Jean's mind to even consider accepting.

"...Since November. Mikasa told me about it, I, said I wouldn't tell anyone! Marco talked to me the other day and he said you talked, I thought he told you." November. Huh. November. The month before December.

"You... y--y-you, _lied_ to m-me." Jean hissed the words quietly, feeling his chest tighten and the lump in his throat return. How could he forget? The unpleasant conversation Armin had with Jean in the winter, when he'd managed to emotionally beat Jean into confessing that he was in love with Marco. "You told me, you _said_...! You said you didn't know anything." Jean was upset but he was mostly hurt more than angry.

Armin was quick to defend himself though, "I know! I know, but I couldn't tell you! If neither of them wanted anyone else to know, wh-what did you expect me to do? Betray two of my friends and crush your hopes of being with Marco at the same time? Why would I ever do that?"

Too bad that wasn't Jean's point. That wasn't why he was upset. "Th-th-- That's _not_ what I'm t-talking about! You, you told me you didn't know if he liked girl-irls or not! 'Got my, fucking hopes up, told me to just do it b-because.... You shouldn't ha-have lied to get my hopes up!"

"Just because he did stuff with her doesn't mean he's not interested in men, Jean! I, I didn't want you to wait around forever to ask him because I thought, the longer you waited the worse it would be if he said _no_! If I told you I knew he, he at least had sex with a girl then you would have been a mess, okay?" Armin sounded so sure but also exhausted, like he'd somehow had to say it a thousand times and yet no one was hearing him. Or maybe he was just trying to convince himself that he hadn't done anything wrong, who knows?

Jean didn't care about his excuses, but Armin continued anyway. "You're so _emotional_ okay, I thought if you really loved him I was just going to mess things up if I didn't say that!"

At this point Jean doing all but gagging himself to prevent himself from hyperventilating, he was so upset. "Emotional? You th-h-hink I'm too emotional?" He was trying hard to sound angry, but his voice was quieter than he'd meant it to be and his tone wasn't all that aggressive.

"No," Armin tried to correct himself, "I didn't say you were _too_ emotional. Just, I meant you, you have strong feelings about things sometimes and, strong... reactions?" Oh. What a horrible attempt to save himself. That wasn't doing anything to help Jean's mood.

"What?" Jean sneered through his teeth, "Do you th-think," He took a moment to breathe, "My fe-feelings are too, _excessive_?" He spat the last word out of his mouth like he was allergic to it, his voice trembling and his eyes beginning to strain and sting with the threat of more tears. He hated what he'd been hearing, that apparently everyone just thought Jean was too delicate and over emotional to handle something, something so stupid.

It was the petty and childish thing to do, but Jean couldn't take the moment of silence between them and he hung up, slammed his phone down on the carpet in frustration. "Fucking _asshole_!" Was that what people thought of him? That he was sooo emotional, that they had to hide things from him, to lie to him, to avoid setting him off or something? Fine. Fine, fine fine finefinefine _fine_ , okay? Jean could take not being told certain things because they were private and maybe they weren't his business.

But Jean wasn't a fucking 11 year old, okay? He didn't over react to everything! He deserved to not be lied to simply because other people thought he wouldn't react well. Why couldn't people just be straight forward, and get to the point? Not that Jean had any room to talk but not coming out about being bi was not the same thing as lying to people about... their sexualities....

The point is, Armin shouldn't have lied to him, and Jean was hoping to high hell that Marco respected his feelings and didn't just think Jean was an over emotional cry baby. Maybe that's what Jean really was, but that didn't mean he wanted people to treat him that way. Just like with his face. Yeah he was a pizza faced mess, but he didn't want people to notice it, or think about it, or make points about it.

In Jean's newfound anger he may or may not have thrown a couple of his text books at walls and shouted a few obscenities before going back to his bed to try and calm down again. He'd shed enough tears today, which luckily meant he didn't have much left now. But he was still getting some sobs out as he slammed his fists into the mattress to get his frustration out. He hated being lied to. He hated being viewed as weak and emotional.

What definitely didn't help, however, was when he heard a knock at the door. "Jean? What's going on in there?" Great. His mother. 

Jean practically snapped his neck he sat up so fast, "H-hold on!" He had to clean up. He threw his _text books_ , if his mother saw those he'd never hear the end of it. In the past Jean had a tendency to break things when he was upset, because for him, it helped to take his anger out on inanimate objects.

His mother however, who had to pay to replace such things, never appreciated the destructive little therapy sessions Jean hosted for himself. School text books weren't something she'd have to replace, but that didn't mean she was going to let it slide.

Jean wiped his face as he stood up after neatly putting his text books back where they were before he'd thrown them, and cleared his throat to maybe get the obviously-just-cried tone out of his voice. "Yeah?" It didn't work. The second he saw, or heard, whichever one had come first, the doorknob turn he retreated to the floor where all of his homework was. He could stare down at it all and maybe she'd go away if she thought he was being a good son that actually did his homework sometimes.

"I thought I heard you crying." Or not. Jean stayed silent anyway, just shrugging in response to delay the inevitability that was admitting he was totally crying. Even now he was focusing on his breathing, trying to ensure that he wouldn't hiccup or sniffle even once. "I know something's wrong, why won't you tell me?" She was staring down at him with those Mom Eyes and Jean refused to look up at her. He didn't want her to notice that he'd done more than just a little crying.

"Homework. It's hard." Jean muttered instead, hoping his mother didn't realize the textbook he was looking at was upside-down. "Oh? Are you sure? Don't you usually wait until Sunday to do your Friday homework? Now what have they given you that's so-- Jeany, I can see why it's so hard for you to get your work done. That book's upside-down." _Fuck_ , Jean just, could never win, could he?

Jean bit his bottom lip and slowly rotated the text book so that he could read it properly, but didn't say anything. His mind was too much of a mess to come up with some kind of excuse at the moment.

Unfortunately his mother wasn't going to stop. But that was just what good mothers did, so it was futile for Jean to keep up the act. "Please tell me what's wrong, and don't lie to me again. Just tell me what's bothering you." Ugh. 

Jean couldn't stand her persistence, couldn't she just take a hint and back off? "It's not important." His voice cracked slightly when he said it, and anyone would have noticed, but Jean couldn't even tell the truth, so what was he going to do?

"It's important to me, I'm your mother and I care about you. Did you do something wrong you don't want me to find about? I promise if you tell me now I won't be as mad." His mother said it with a kind voice, but there was a stern "you better get to the point" hidden in her tone that Jean would have been stupid not to recognize after all the years of hearing it.

Fed up with the back and forth, Jean stood up and shrugged his shoulders again, then let his arms slap down to his sides, "It's Marco, okay? That's it, o-okay, can you go?" He'd tried his best not to stutter, but he was tired and his body certainly wasn't done getting over the crying fit he'd had. His stutters, hiccups, and sniffles would most likely last through to the next day too.

His mother seemed shocked to see her son's face the way it was. Jean hadn't looked in the mirror since he started crying, but he knew his face must've been red and his eyes must've been a puffy mess and already crusting up a bit from crying. "Oh no," She gasped and stepped into the room more, "What happened? Is he alright?"

Jean only took a step back in response and huffed out his nose, "He's _fine_. Mom, I seriously don't wanna talk about it okay can you just go? It's none of your business." The last thing Jean needed was for his mom to intervene in his social life. Just imagining her calling up Marco's parents made Jean cringe, but he didn't have a good excuse and so if she did call them, he'd have to let Marco handle the excuse making.

His mother stood firm though, bring her hands together in front of her, "Jean, anything is my business if it makes you cry so much. You know I love you and I care about you and your friends, so just tell me what's wrong." There wasn't much more either of them were going to put up with. One of them was going to have to budge, or put their foot down. And neither of them wanted to put their foot down, because that usually meant a lot of yelling to follow.

"We, had a-an argument, okay? That's it. _Please_ , get out of my room." Jean was trying to keep his voice level, and to be patient, because he could not afford to flip out again. If he did he'd have a complete freak out. He'd become irrational, he'd hyperventilate and cry even though he had no tears left and probably not enough air left either to even sob properly.

Over-crying was a real thing and it was a terrible experience. It was like, being over-tired but instead of being both extremely awake yet completely dizzy from exhaustion, it was like going on a roller coaster emotionally after being stuck on a roller coaster physically for 10 hours and finally being allowed to get off. The only people who usually over-cried were toddlers and babies, and Jean wasn't either of them. Needless to say, he didn't like over-crying, yet he'd experienced it at least one time too many past said toddler years.

It was quiet for a moment, but Jean wasn't stupid enough to think things would end at that. He refused to make eye contact and just stared at the wall to the side, hoping his mother would just leave him be for once. "Did you have a fight over a girl?" Technically, and only technically, yes, but if Jean said yes to that she'd get an entirely different idea of it.

" _Mom_ ," Jean started quietly as he turned to face her, trying to contain his frustration as best he could in his current state, "There's. No. Girl." He didn't know how many times they'd had this conversation, or rather almost had this conversation, before Jean had shut it down and refused to talk.

But his mother got that knowing look in her eyes and crossed her arms, her head slightly tilted to the side, "Come on now Jeany, it's been well over a month without you telling me about this girl. Now suddenly around Valentine's Day you get in a fight with Marco and you can't even tell me why? Now I know you, I raised you, and I _know_ that there is some girl--" Jean couldn't take this anymore.

"There is no girl! There's _NO_ girl! Because I'm _gay_ , alright!? Alright!? I'm _gay_!" Bi, but it was all the same to people like his mother. And really, he was so frustrated he'd say almost anything to get her to shut up about "the girl" that just, didn't fucking exist.

His mother's eyes went wide, and her mouth opened slightly. She blinked a couple of times and brought one of her hands up towards her face, but it barely made it to her chin. "...You're gay?" This wasn't how Jean had planned on coming out to his mother, and it wasn't even the worst reaction he'd imagined, and yet.... Somehow her reaction seemed to anger Jean like nothing else, and he wasn't sure why.

Jean's hands that had been tensely hanging at his sides balled into fists, and he kept clenching and un-clenching them, "Ofcourse I'm _gay_! Now _get out of my room_! " His anger, or maybe it was just the fact he'd come out, seemed to have stunned his mother. She looked so worried, and at each screamed word she seemed to become more and more stressed. Even with his voice cracking and his throat too sore to continue, Jean managed to sound just as angry as he truly was.

It was only a moment after Jean had demanded she leave that his mother actually did, turning around and walking out of the room without another word. Jean wasn't interested in having her change her mind and come back, either now or later, and so he stomped over to the door and slammed it shut. He locked it too, just to ensure complete privacy.

He was mad, but he was tired, and he wanted his string of terrible feelings and events to stop. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve it. Maybe it was just his sorta-but-not-really Catholic upbringing that had ingrained the idea into Jean's brain that if bad things happened to him without an easy explanation or person to blame, that it meant the world was punishing him for something he'd done wrong.

But he hadn't done anything wrong! He'd done good, all week. He didn't freak out too horribly on Marco, they talked, they got past things, things were good! They _were_ , anyway. It didn't matter though. Jean just crawled into bed, flipped his pillow over so he wouldn't be sleeping on damp leftover tears, and pressed his face into it. He just wanted to rest, and take a break from reality for a while. No more human interaction, at all. That's what he needed.

* * *

The worst part about waking up after crying a lot the night before? Eye crusties. Brushing them off to get his eyelids to unstick was easy, but the leftovers made his vision blurry and he had to blink and rub his eyes to get it to stop. One time he'd actually had so much encrusted whatever-it-was on one of his eyelids that he couldn't even open his eye until he wiped it off with warm water. Fun thing, being a massive emotional mess.

Jean squinted as he looked over at his door, relieved to see the lock was still in place. Sometimes his mother would use a gift card or something similar, jam it in the door, and force it to unlock so she could get in to see whatever it was Jean was doing that he didn't want her to see. Usually Jean had just broke something or was crying and had gotten to the age that he didn't like people seeing him cry.

On the other hand, Jean's face felt wonderful. Nothing like tears to suck all the oils out of his face, right? Although there probably wasn't much oil, dirt, or skin left on his face after how hard he'd assaulted it with that steaming hot wash cloth. An over reaction on Jean's part, but hey, at least his face was nice and clean now.

Jean sighed as he got up and noticed his phone on the floor, cursing himself for not taking the two seconds to plug it in before he went to bed. And then he remembered the conversation he had with Armin, and he winced a little on the inside. Armin didn't like being yelled at when he thought he was right, and like any normal person, he did _not_ appreciate being hung up on. Maybe if Jean avoided him for the next two weeks they could just forget about his melt down, brush it under the rug, and move on like nothing happened?

At least Jean changed into pajamas before going to bed. It pays to wake up comfortably and not trapped in tight skinny jeans that would have been gently cutting the circulation off in various veins through the night. Or not. That's just how Jean imagined things happened, since any time he made the mistake of going to bed in jeans, he'd always wake up the next day in a kind of subtle aching sensation.

He plugged his charger into his phone and then, cautiously, walked towards his door. Letting his mother know that he was awake, if she was awake, wasn't something he wanted to do. Honestly, there was no telling what kind of things she would say or do now that she had time to process the fact that she apparently had no fucking clue her one and only son who she raised by herself for 16+ years and claims to know _so well_ ,... is gay.

Bi. But still, Jean wasn't going to explain that, definitely not today or any time soon. That would just mean she could start asking about "the girl" again, and Jean wasn't sure how to convince her that "the girl" didn't exist unless he told her that said mysterious girl was actually just Marco. And considering Jean's mother considered Marco like another son, that was just going to be 11 kinds of weird and then some. That and, she may not let him spend nights alone with Marco anymore.

Jean wouldn't even cry if that happened, he'd just ignore her entirely, get yelled at more, and just have an all around miserable life until he could move out. He had no intentions of moving out either, so that would really ruin his life plans. So, half-lying it was then.

As quietly and slowly as he could, Jean unlocked his door and turned the knob before gently pulling it open. What he didn't expect was to be greeted by the smell of bacon, the sound of water running and dishes clinking, obviously from downstairs. His first thought? It was a trap. The same kind of trap anyone in his family would pull when they wanted to drag someone from a corner of the house into a false sense of security before interrogating them about something.

Like during Christmas break, only this time, Jean knew he'd most likely be alone if he went downstairs. Assuming Hitch even came home last night, his mother would have done the smart thing and sent her to have some fun in the city on her. Jean wouldn't open up about being gay in front of Hitch. Hell, he probably wouldn't even open up about _dying_ if it meant Hitch would be there to hear it. If he had to deal with her then his mother wasn't going to be able to get a word out of him.

Either way, Jean wasn't going to take the bait so easily. Yeah he was hungry, and yeah he hadn't had a home-cooked breakfast in months, but he didn't want to see his mom. He didn't want to answer questions. Instead he went into the bathroom and started his morning routine; Pee, wash hands, brush teeth. Look at floss, _don't_ floss. Wash his face...? Jean had a hard time deciding that one. Normally he did as often as he could, but what if he dried out his face after his tears had done such a nice job moisturizing it?

Ultimately he decided to very gently use a washcloth with warm water to wipe his face with, then switching to cold water to reduce as much redness on his face as possible. The only thing worse than crying in front of other people was just looking like he'd cried a lot. 

He could just stay in his room all day, and not talk to anyone, but that all depended on how much his mother planned on bothering him.

Jean wished there were some way to make his eyes look less puffy, but he'd been through this before enough times to accept there was nothing to hide it or cover it up, and that he'd just have to wait for his body to do whatever it did that made them look normal again.

As carefully as he'd left his own room, Jean opened the bathroom door and listened for whatever was going on downstairs. Dishes were still being done, or at least that's what Jean assumed was happening, so he was safe to retreat the privacy of his room. He had no idea what he would do all day to keep himself occupied, but for the time being he didn't have the strength to ignore his phone.

"Jesus...." Jean muttered as he saw how many missed calls and unread messages he had. A couple calls and a few texts from Armin, that was no surprise, but _8_ missed calls from Marco. Fucking 8. All Jean thought at first was that his mother had done the dumb thing and called Marco's parents, asking about the supposed argument. But then Jean skimmed through Armin's texts and it all became clear.

> "Jean? answer the phone
> 
> what are you doing? don't just ignore me
> 
> okay you're not answering, so I called Marco." 

Great. Armin intervening in Jean's love life yet again, what a blast. Jean couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of things Armin would've told Marco to make Marco call 8 fucking times in a row. He quickly checked what Marco's last text to him was, and shuddered when he read it. 

> "Oh, your mom called. Jean can we please talk?" 

Perfect grammar? No smileys? That certainly wasn't a good sign. Between his mother and Armin, Jean was certain that Marco must have had a serious panic attack last night. And Jean slept through everything, huh? Brilliant. Jean had no intention of talking to Marco today, but now he really didn't have a choice.

He sat on his bed and leaned his back against the wall, called Marco's number, and waited. "Please don't pick up...." He whispered to the phone, as if it would listen and make sure Marco didn't actually get the call until much later. It would arguably be a worse scenario but at least then Jean could say that he did call back without lying, yeah?

"Jean?" Marco's voice sounded disturbingly chipper considering everything Jean expected based on what he knew. It was probably just another one of Marco's acts to make things less tense, and maybe he'd rehearsed what he would say over and over again all night and then in the morning too. "Yeah. 'Morning." Jean wished he'd practiced talking himself, because he didn't sound even half as positive.

"Yeah, good morning! Uh, Jean? Can we talk? I... don't know what I did wrong, but I'm--" Uh-uh, Jean couldn't handle one of Marco's sad kicked puppy apologies. " _Marco_ , stop. Okay just, whatever Armin or my mom told you can you just, ignore all of that? They don't know shit." Again, not entirely accurate, but Jean figured his mom over reacted and Armin probably just said whatever because he got upset that Jean yelled at him and then hung up.

There was silence, and then Jean heard a relieved sigh from the other end, "Okay. Okay, but Jean they both said you cried because of something _I_ did. What, what's going on?" He wanted to call Armin up right then and yell at him for being a complete idiot, but Jean didn't have the energy for that.

"It's just... nothing, okay? I was just...." Emotional? Over reacting? Sick with envy? "I was stressed out." It wasn't a lie, at the very least. But Jean knew that it wasn't enough of an explanation, not even for Marco. "I-- Are you sure? Jean, you said you weren't mad at me for what I told you about, right? You're not upset?"

Ugh. Jean wished he could just snap his fingers and get all the bad thoughts out of Marco's mind, because they really weren't the truth and Jean just wasn't sure how to make him believe that. "I'm not mad," Jean said quietly, "It's almost Valentine's Day, and I felt... shitty about myself, okay? It's just one of those years. I don't know what my mom told you, or, or, whatever the hell Armin thinks, but I was upset with Armin for a stupid reason yesterday, and I'm mad at my mom, so, just, yeah. It's not you, or what you said."

Technically that was all true, too! Jean really didn't have the energy to explain everything that had happened, or that thinking about what Marco told him made him feel grossly inferior. That would just hurt Marco more than if he'd said he was just jealous of Marco for having sex with a girl Jean "liked". One lie in favor of another. That was the best he could do right now.

"Do you want to come over? We can uhm, hang out, or just talk, or whatever." Marco's voice seemed to brighten up more, and Jean could only see that as his explanations working as well as they could have. It sucked when Jean could tell Marco worried that _he_ was the one to make Jean cry. Especially after they'd just gotten through their very sweet conversations through the week about how much they wanted each other to be happy. Eugh, it was weird to think about now.

"Nah. I just woke up 'n I wanna relax. Maybe later." Jean didn't like shooting Marco down but what other response could he expect?

"Oh? I can come over there instead if you want?" Oh why did he have to push it? "No." Jean said it more sternly that time without meaning too.

"Alright, talk to you later." Marco sounded defeated, but at least he didn't sound sad. "Bye." Jean hung up and set his phone down to charge, and hoped Marco wouldn't worry too much. He just wanted some peace, some time to wake up and figure out what the fuck he was doing. He _would_ talk to Marco later, he couldn't handle it and think things through clearly enough yet.

Jean realized then that, while he'd gotten a lot of sleep, he was still groggy and tired. And while he'd rather lock himself in his room all day, he needed caffeine. All the more reason to invest in a mini fridge for his room so that in times like this, he could hide himself away as long as possible. It was a tough choice. Stay in his room and have to possibly hear his phone ring, or go downstairs and try his best to ignore his own mother?

Caffeine. Jean really needed caffeine. He didn't do well without something to wake him up in the morning, and if he was ever going to get his head on straight and somehow explain to Marco how he was feeling, he couldn't be a cranky, sleepy jackass all day. Maybe he could grab some snacks too, so he wouldn't be starving later either.

The whole journey form his bed and down into the kitchen though, was very awkward and filled with tension. Jean wanted to play it cool, avoid eye contact, and shrug off any attempts at conversation his mom made. It was kind of hard though, when he finally walked towards the kitchen and could smell all the things his shitty nose hadn't been able to identify before.

French toast drowned in maple syrup and powdered sugar, scrambled eggs with ham, toast with butter, and _fuck_ Jean, there was even some kind of brown mixed thing in the Vitamix. A chocolate breakfast milkshake or something, maybe, but Jean didn't know. His mom really went all out with things, and he figured she must have called his Nana to get advice on what to make. It'd been so long since his mom made him breakfast at home, and usually it was just pancakes and scrambled eggs.

She must have gotten up pretty early to get started on everything, and Jean almost felt bad for it. "Good morning!" His mother turned around with a very wide smile. Almost. Jean _almost_ felt bad. But he didn't. He grunted in response and opened the fridge, pulling out the first caffeinated soda can he saw.

"Could you hand me the eggs?" His mother continued, and Jean begrudgingly pulled the carton of eggs out of the fridge with his free hand. He didn't say anything as he handed it to her, but his mother was quick to not let him get away either. "Thank you. Do you want anything? I made breakfast for you!"

Jean couldn't look her in the eye, he just stared at the wall above the stove in silence, gritting his teeth. He didn't like it when people tried to pretend everything was fine, even when it wasn't. "Did you sleep okay? I tried to wake you up for dinner, I made meatloaf. There's still some leftovers in the fridge if you want that." Could she not take the hint, or was whatever the hell she wanted to talk about soo important that she couldn't give Jean any space?

"Where's Hitch?" Jean didn't really care, but he'd asked anyway, because he didn't want to talk about himself right now. "Oh she didn't want breakfast, so she went out to spend time with one of her friends today. There's a lot of extra food here, why don't you have something? I made plenty of bacon!" Figures. What a perfect excuse for making so much food.

But Jean was fed up. "Why'd you call Marco? What'd you _say_ to him? I told you it wasn't your business and he's upset now!" Jean snapped, turning his head towards his mother but not directly looking at her. He didn't want to see all that motherly pouty looks. Unfortunately his mother didn't answer immediately, but Jean wanted an answer and he'd rather get it now than later when he was back in his room trying to relax.

"I was _worried_ , you don't have serious fights with Marco and you weren't talking to me. I just wanted to know what was wrong, but he wouldn't tell me either. Why don't we sit down, and have breakfast?" Jean hated the way she explained herself like, like it was just a little thing. Like she was just doing her job or something and things got a little inconvenient because of Jean.

Jean did the risky thing and rolled his eyes, scoffing, "Pttsh, whatever." But fine, he'd eat something. He hated when shit got thrown away or wasted away in the fridge for two months before anyone had the sense to toss it. And scrambled eggs didn't taste good reheated anyway. He set his soda down on the counter and grabbed a plate, which he filled with a little bit of everything. Primarily scrambled eggs and bacon, because well, Jean really liked scrambled eggs with ham, and who didn't like bacon?

He grabbed some silverware too, and hoped that his mother didn't think that him accepting food was some kind of forgiveness. Jean was hungry and wanted to get this over with, that's all. His mother turned the sink off and left the egg carton on the counter, then adjusted the stovetop dials before getting herself some food.

Maybe his mother did have at least some sense, because she didn't immediately start chattering the second she sat down across from Jean in the dining room. It sucked. Breakfast like this with his mom was always something he enjoyed, something he looked forward to and missed when his mom was either busy cleaning or sleeping on the weekends. They weren't commonly used as ways to force them to have hard conversations.

The silence had to end eventually though. "Do you want a chocolate shake? It doesn't have caffeine in it but it'll taste better than _that_!" She gently pointed to the unopened soda can on the table. Jean shrugged, his mouth full of food, "Whatever." 

He was starting to sound like a broken record, but his mother got up anyway and went to pour Jean some of it anyway. If he hadn't made a smoothie all those months ago with a banana he'd had up his ass, then maybe Jean would be a little more excited for the drink.

Jean didn't even look up at her when she placed the glass next to his plate, he just continued to stare down at his food like it was the only thing around to look at. Even now, Jean wasn't exactly sure why he was so upset with her yesterday. Yes, she'd pushed into business that she didn't belong in, but what else was new? Just, something about the way she acted when Jean told her he was gay, it didn't sit right with him.

Although that, on top of the fact his mother had the nerve to actually call Marco to ask about the argument, just put Jean on edge. It wasn't until he couldn't hear the clinking of metal from the other side of the table that he made the simple error of looking up. His mother had her hands folded on the table, and while she had a smile on her face anyone could see the look in her eyes was anything but pleased.

Jean stopped eating immediately, annoyed, but he was done with her beating around the bush anyway. The food had been just fine, it was a shame he wouldn't be eating any more of it.

"Now, Jean, you know that I'll always love you, alright? I want you to know that it's perfectly _okay_ that y--" Jean scoffed and rolled his eyes, dropping his silverware on the table. "Yeah, I know mom. 'It's okay to be gay', yeah, I already knew that." Maybe he was being unnecessarily rude, but Jean didn't care. Jean didn't care a single bit if he was hurting his mom's feelings, not about this.

His mother looked somewhat hurt for a moment, but she quickly straightened herself out again and cleared her throat, "Oh, okay. Alright, that's, that's good. It's good that you understand that, I don't want you to feel like I, or your grandmother, or anyone else in this family will treat you differently because of it."

Bullshit. Jean's family might not have been a bunch of homophobic gay bashing assholes, but they were certainly going to treat him differently. Suddenly it would no longer be questions about what kind of girl he would marry and how many kids he would have, it would be "How do you meet 'other' men?" and "How are you going to have children?". Harmless enough questions, sure, harmless enough that Jean couldn't get mad or expect them to just shut up with them after a scolding here or there at the occasional family gatherings.

He was really thankful that his mother's side of the family, for how strictly religious they were, hadn't been the kind of religious people to demonize anyone considerably "different". But that didn't mean the little things weren't annoying. It was always the little things that ruined Jean's day. Explaining being bi to anyone in his family that wasn't a bit more educated would be a nightmare some day, too.

Clearly she had been expecting some kind of response, because after a while of Jean not saying or doing anything, his mother started up with even more questions. "Well... how long have you been--" Again, Jean didn't want to hear whatever came after that, and cut her off instead. " _Always_." He didn't know why he said it like that, like his mother had done a serious wrong just by asking.

To be honest? Jean didn't know if he was even answering that right. He wasn't exactly clear on the whole sexuality thing, and even when growing up he'd never really formed any crushes or anything on anyone. Jean didn't really have friends when he was younger, he was too sensitive, too easy to pick on. Maybe he was so focused on trying to avoid being picked on, and even making friends in general, to think about crushes. That or he'd just forgotten over the years, he didn't know.

Jean always viewed girls and boys the same, and it wasn't until he was even told what gayness was that he'd realized that there was a difference between the way he felt about other boys than what was supposedly "normal". Even now he still didn't get it, with people like Armin and Eren being complete fucking mysteries as far as Jean was concerned. But from what he's heard from people over the years, it was an Always or Never kind of deal. So, always, was the answer his mother was getting.

"O-oh, I see. Really?" His mother looked and sounded genuinely shocked, and it was then that Jean felt as angry as he did yesterday. " _Yeah_ , really! I'm your _son_ , remember? Shouldn't you have _fucking_ known that already?" Jean wasn't supposed to swear in front of his mother, it was disrespectful and yada yada yada, but why in Hell should Jean care when he's so damn pissed off?

She should have _known_ , right? Parents are supposed to _know_ when their kids are "different". They're supposed to know even when they don't, even when they're not sure. How could his mother be so sure that there was some girl out there that Jean was in love with, but not even suspect even a little bit that he liked boys? It wasn't like Jean wasn't hiding it for as long as he could remember but so? So what?

His mother looked crushed, and she pulled her hands off the table, "Jeany, _please_ , how could I know? You never open up to me, and when I try to talk to you about these things you don't want to talk to me. I had no idea, you never, you've never shown any interest in boys, not ever. Is this why you and Marco had an argument, did you tell him? Was he upset about it?"

Jean crossed his arms and shook his head, "I can't believe you're making this about _him_! And no, Marco doesn't _care_ , his sister's gay!" Normally Jean would be opposed to just shouting out that other people were gay, but Ymir was the kind of person that would make sure she mentioned how she was "a lesbian with a super hot girlfriend" the first time she met anyone, as far as Jean could tell.

"Alright, alright. I didn't mean to change the subject, but see you never tell me these things. I'm just trying to understand." His mom looked so hurt, and Jean could hear it in her voice. Jean could probably say anything he wanted, and she wouldn't get mad at him or ground him or even tell him to go to his room. But Jean wasn't _that_ huge of an asshole. "There's nothing _to_ understand! I like guys, woo hoo, big deal. You're acting like, like... like it's rocket science or something when it shouldn't even be a surprise!"

Jean heard enough coming out stories from other people, and generally it was either "they kicked me out" or "they already knew and were fine with it". Obviously, Jean didn't want the first thing, and it wasn't like he wanted the second thing either, but it's what he expected. For all his mother went on and on about knowing him and all that parenting garbage, he _expected_ his mother to know that he wasn't straight.

It wasn't the only important thing in Jean's life, but it was still something that mattered. But considering how his mother seemed to think nothing would change, Jean just felt even more like she didn't have a clue about anything at all. She'd probably been up all night talking with her mother, or her sister, or God forbid, her book club members, trying to figure out how to handle this conversation.

Out of spite, Jean got up from his chair and grabbed his unopened soda, "I'm done." He'd really wanted to take his food with him, or even take a sip of that damn chocolate shake, but he didn't want to give his mom the satisfaction of knowing she'd done at least something right. Jean didn't even want to say anything, but he knew if he didn't say something then he'd just have to hear his mom ask if he was leaving, and then he'd have to talk anyway.

Jean might regret being so petty later on, when he was wishing he'd eaten the rest of his breakfast, or hadn't been so hypocritical and unfair in how he talked to his mother, but that wasn't what he had to worry about now. The only thing he had on his mind was getting upstairs as soon as possible so he could figure out what he was going to do in his room for the rest of the day.

There was a special kind of exhaustion that came with crying far more than necessary, and it was something that stayed, even just a little bit, after going to sleep and waking up again. One can of sugary soda was not going to be enough to keep him awake all morning and through out most of the day, and he knew he'd have to return back to downstairs eventually. Maybe his mother would be cleaning, or baking, or watching T.V. downstairs, waiting for him to crawl back out of his room again.

Or maybe she'd do what she sometimes did when they had arguments, and she'd try to act like she'd done nothing wrong. Jean wasn't sure which he'd prefer, really. His mom and everyone on her side of the family were all he really had to talk to outside of his friend circle. He really wasn't ready for the awkward Gay Treatment, not when his closest friends were also recently his largest sources of stress. 

Really, Jean wasn't even going to bother telling anyone on his dad's side of the family. They could all find out on Facebook in a year or two, when Jean would be comfortable enough for anyone to know.

Not ready to apologize to Armin, or feel the temptation of vomiting up words to Marco, Jean turned his phone off when he got into his room. He sighed and slouched over onto his bed, digging his face into the mattress. He wasn't tired enough to sleep, sad enough to cry, or even stressed enough to let out a good scream or two. Jean should have kept his mouth shut, now that he thinks about it. A lot of screaming and lying to his mother might've gotten him grounded, but at least he wouldn't be trying to juggle 4 problems at once.

Jean was 16, he couldn't handle problems on top of school. That's what adults were supposed to suffer with, and Jean was a good year away from that. It came to him again with a shock that, Marco and Armin were turning 18 this year, and they'd have to start paying taxes, and, making their own doctors appointments, and whatever else it was that adults were supposed to do once they became adults.

Did all the little problems go away when you became an adult? Was all the fiction correct, and Jean could do whatever he wanted when he turned 18 no matter what anyone told him? Probably not, but it was nice to think about. Oh yeah, and his acne. They said acne would go away once he got older, too. Jean might actually become sexy once he turned 18. And then he could use dating apps, and not have the occasional mental breakdown over some damn zits.

It really was something Jean was ashamed of, over reacting like he did, freaking out over his acne when it wasn't even that bad. February just did things to him some years, and none of the extras that his life tossed at him had helped much. Being "sensitive" wasn't something Jean liked to consider a bad thing. Who wants to be told that everything they feel is just too much? That they needed to tone it down?

Usually he was alright, calm, fine, whatever. But when people hit a nerve, they hit it _hard_ , and it was like poking little balloons in Jean's brain that were full of water. Emotion water. Emotion water that just went everywhere and made Jean feel like he was drowning half the time in whatever he was feeling. 

Still, Jean didn't like it when people treated him like he was going too far when sometimes, to him, it was just enough. How much he hated his acne, and how terrified he got when he failed an important test that could mean not graduating, how much he loved Marco, none of it felt like it was too much.

His reactions to how he felt may have been a bit overboard sometimes but why did that have to mean he was _too_ emotional, _too_ sensitive, _too much_? It's not like Jean went around telling people they weren't sensitive _enough_.

* * *

Jean knew Marco must've been texting him or calling him throughout the day, and sending messages on things like Skype no doubt. But he ignored all of those things, promising he'd turn his phone back on at some point later. Later came and went though, and Jean should have expected Marco to not just wait around forever until Jean could be bothered to man up and talk about his feelings. No one likes a sulker.

Earlier in the day, Jean did hear a knock at his door, and had told whoever it was to go away. It'd happened again an hour or so later, and Jean did the same thing, thinking that the next time he'd throw something at the door to get the message across that he didn't want to talk. But then he thought about it and decided he didn't really want to get yelled at.

Now, the third time around, Jean was ready to just lock his door and stay quiet for the rest of the day. "I said to leave me _alone_!" Was it too much to ask to be left alone on a Saturday? And maybe he should have locked his door earlier, because he heard the doorknob turn and his door open. " _Okay_ , I just wanted to ask if you wanted to get ice cream." It was Marco.

Jean bit the inside of his cheek and wanted to hit himself. How the fuck was he supposed to know it was Marco this time? "Why-- Did my mom let you in?" He asked with annoyance clear in his voice. He really didn't want his mom trying to get answers out of Marco with small talk.

"No, thank god. I don't think she's here." Marco said as he pushed the door open further, taking a quick look behind his shoulder. Jean almost forgot that he'd said he got into an argument with Marco. His mom probably would have grilled Marco with that Catholic smiley invasive "charm" that she had sometimes. 

"What, Hitch let you in?" Jean didn't think that Hitch ever answered the door, and if she did Jean knew she was more likely to claim Jean wasn't home than let one of his friends in.

Marco's nose crinkled up for a second and he held his hand out, "I used the spare? Can you guys put that thing somewhere else or something because I need to wash my hand." Ever since the party that landed them both in a world of trouble they told each other where their spare house keys were, just in case either of them did some dumb shit again. Neither of them wanted to deal with the Hell their families gave them ever again.

"I should've never told you where that thing was. And boo hoo, if we don't hide it somewhere people wouldn't look, then what's the point of having a spare?" Currently, Jean's spare house key was underneath a bunch of rocks, and he was sure there was all kinds of fun moss slime and dirt on it. No one in the house was all that forgetful, they rarely ever needed the spare key. Jean was surprised it was still there, he figured the rain would have washed it away at least once.

On the other hand, Marco had a terrible habit of losing small and otherwise easy to hide things, so Marco's family actually had _two_ spare house keys outside the house. One in their mail box and the other in some bird bath water feature thing in their backyard. Jean thought they were terrible hiding spots, but at least they didn't put it under their welcome mat or something, Jean would have never shut up until it got moved.

Marco rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, but Jean didn't hear it. "So what was that about ice cream?" Jean tried to hide the excitement in his voice. The only reason Marco would ever ask him if he wanted ice cream was if he wanted to _go get_ ice cream. Not the stuff that's bought in tubs at the store, but an actual place, that serves ice cream.

"My mom's outside in the car, we just got back from the mall and she said we can get ice cream." Marco sounded every bit as excited as Jean did, and for good reason. Really the only time Marco's parents let him have things like ice cream were in the summer or for dessert. It was still February, and it definitely wasn't dinner time. And Jean just didn't have the energy or money to go out and get his own ice cream.

Jean noticed he was still in pajamas and groaned, "Fuck, I need to change first." He had too much self respect to go anywhere but Wal-Mart in fucking pajama bottoms. Marco nodded, "Yeah, you do. I'll wait in the car for you, okay?" He left after that, closing the door. Normally, Marco would have stayed, but Jean figured he didn't want to wait outside the door and risk having to talk to Jean's mom in the event that she came home from wherever she was. Jean probably had a text from her on his phone, and he was glad that he'd turned it off.

Wherever his mom was, Jean didn't plan to be at home when she got back. So he got his clothes off as fast as possible and put on the nearest clean ones he could get to. Thinking about it though, he knew he'd have to at least let her know that he was going somewhere. There was a limit to how much shit Jean could get away with when his mother was trying to make up for something.

He didn't want to turn his phone on and he didn't want to talk to his mom, but Jean wasn't about to miss out on ice cream. Free ice cream nonetheless! Marco didn't say he'd pay for it but what kind of asshole would offer to take someone to eat somewhere and not pay for it? That, and Jean was assuming that it'd be Marco's mom who would pay for it.

Jean stopped by the bathroom before he went downstairs, and was disappointed but not surprised to see that his eyes were still puffy enough to be noticeable. He knew Marco wouldn't stare at him or anything, it was strangers that he was worried about. Not that strangers actually gave a damn, but Jean always thought people would notice if something was wrong with him. Considering his acne, there was _always_ at least one thing wrong with Jean.

After making sure he had his house key on him, Jean turned his phone on and left the house. On his way to the car, he sent a short message to his mom about what he'd be doing, then shoved his phone into his pocket and prayed she wouldn't text or call him back. 

He could have lied and said he forgot his phone at the house, then made Marco text her for him, but that would be unfair and uncomfortable for Marco. No one likes to get in trouble with their friends' parents. Especially not someone like Marco.

But all of that negative crap was pushed to the side once Jean got into the car, "Hi." He gave what was kind of a wave to Marco's mother as he buckled up, and he tried to keep his head turned away so that _she_ wouldn't ask why Jean had been crying. If only it were spring, maybe he could blame it on allergies.

He was lucky that she decided to keep her eyes on the road instead. "Hello! Did you tell your mom you were leaving?" As if Jean wouldn't? "Yep.... Hey, Marco how much candy did you buy at the mall?" There were a bunch of shopping bags on the floor, but in the middle seat there was a bag from the candy store in the mall that Jean gave Marco the gift card for.

"Too much!" Marco's mother answered immediately, interrupting whatever it was Marco was going to say. Marco looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn't say anything, he just pulled a few candy bags out of the bigger bag, "Well with the gift card, I got a bunch of chocolate covered gummy bears," Jean sneered when he heard that, disgust on his face. How dare Marco use the money that Jean gave him to buy something so disgusting?

Gummy bears and chocolate weren't meant to be together, they just weren't! He didn't understand why Marco even _tried_ them. It wasn't like chocolate covered fruit where it worked together flavor wise, and there was absolutely nothing satisfying about hard chocolate and then biting into what's basically rubber.

"I got fruit flavored Tootsie rolls, 'yogurt' covered almonds, dark chocolate pretzel bark, soda flavored gummies, and, and those sour things? Y'know the weird oval things that are always in the dispensers at IHOP?" The more Marco went on, the more Jean realized that Marco had definitely bought way more candy than Jean had given him the money for. "How're you gonna eat all of that?"

Candy just didn't taste good if it sat around for weeks, and there was no way Marco's parents would let him gorge himself on candy just because he had a lot of it that might go to waste. Honestly, Jean was surprised Marco was even allowed to buy so much candy at once and somehow give his mom the idea that ice cream afterwards was a good idea.

Marco started putting the bags of candy away and gave a little shrug, "I mean, I'm gonna _share_...." Yeah, sure, "share" he says. Jean knew that really meant that Marco was just going to give Jean half the candy and eat it all when he came over so his parents wouldn't nag him. Not to mention, Marco liked weird shit in terms of candy. Yogurt covered almonds? Dark chocolate? Jean didn't like that kind of stuff, he was more of a lollipops and caramel kind of guy. The tootsie rolls might've been the only thing Marco bought that Jean was really interested in.

Jean would have asked about the other shopping bags, or what places they'd gone to during the day, but he didn't have the energy for that. He'd end up zoning out of the conversation if it wasn't super interesting, and considering Marco was apparently spending less because his 18th birthday was this year, most of the stuff they did probably didn't even involve Marco directly anyway.

Luckily for the rest of the short car ride, Jean was spared having to pay attention to any conversations. Marco was talking to his mom about whatever next errand she had to run after dropping them off, but that was about it. No eye contact or touchy questions, and Marco didn't even ask him anything. They had stuff to talk about, obviously, but Jean was glad that it was all going to be saved for when they had more privacy. Not that an ice cream shop was private, but at least they wouldn't know anyone there.

Of course Jean was the first one to get out of the car, he didn't want Marco's mom to see he'd been crying at some point. So like when he got into the car, all he did was make a short wave and thank her for driving them. He tried not to walk too quickly towards Cold Stone, since that would just be too suspicious. Because the only reason a teenager would hurry to get ice cream is for some secret reason, right?

Marco took a while to get out of the car, and Jean thought it was because he was trying to squeeze more money out of his mom, but he saw the trunk open and realized Marco was getting the job of putting all the bags in the trunk. Why were moms always convinced someone would break into the car for candy, shoes, or pants from Old Navy? Jean didn't get it, if someone was willing to break into a car they'd take the car, it's worth more.

As Marco's mom drove away, Jean was about to stop and tell Marco he'd forgotten to put a bag in the trunk, until he saw it was the bag of candy. What, did he plan to eat half the candy here? "Uh, you know you get a free topping on the ice cream, right?" Jean asked jokingly, looking at the bag.

"You get _one_ free topping, and they don't even have yogurt covered almonds." Marco corrected him, pulling the door handle open and waiting for Jean to pass. As much as Jean hated the "yogurt" that was on those almonds, Marco had a point. The variety in toppings was kinda generic. Candy bars, chocolate chips, and gummy bears. Anyone who's eaten a cold gummy bear will tell you it was never meant to be a topping for something cold.

The smell of places that sold ice cream and only ice cream was simply put; magical. It was like birthday cake and chocolate milk, and it was cold. Not just the air's temperature, it _smelled_ like cold, that smell in autumn that's exciting because you know everything will be dead soon and Christmas is near. Except it's not Christmas, and nothing's dead in Cold Stone, but it gave enough of the feel for Jean to love it.

There was the one downside though, that being the ice cream itself. Dairy, chocolate, fat, all of it was supposed to make people break out more. All things that Jean loved, of course, because it wouldn't be his life if there wasn't something bad with each good thing in his life. He'd convinced himself that he'd skip the chocolate flavors of ice cream and toppings, drink water when he got home, and that'd balance it out. Right? Right.

It was February, technically still winter, which meant there weren't that many people in the shop. There was one guy eating soft serve in the corner, but no one was in line. Jean hated having to stand there, looking through the glass pane at all the different flavors as 1, 2, or sometimes even 3 employees stared at _him_ waiting for him to order. They always seemed so impatient, like the ice cream was going to melt or something if Jean didn't make up his mind quickly.

"What're you getting?" Marco asked, pulling cash out of his pocket. Jean shrugged, "I dunno, just, gimme a minute." He didn't like being rushed! Marco knew that, why'd he even ask? Jean knew exactly what Marco was getting though. Either banana ice cream, or something plain with bananas mixed in. Marco was such a slave to his habits. "I think I'm gonna get the strawberry with bananas. Or, I dunno, do you think I should get the Banana ice cream, with bananas mixed in?"

Weird. Marco usually didn't get the double banana thing. Jean looked up confused for a second before he saw the look on Marco's face. He scoffed and turned back to the ice cream flavors, biting and chewing on his bottom lip to resist blushing at all. Marco looked all innocent enough, happy and smiling and acting like he hadn't said what he'd just said. But Jean wasn't stupid, he could see the look in Marco's eyes, the asshole. Payback for ignoring him all day maybe?

"Maybe if you ask them nicely," Jean said through gritted teeth, "They'll add something extra crunchy as your free topping, you fuckin', _gla--_ " Marco lightly hit him with the bag of candy, "Awh, please! I was just making a joke, I thought it'd cheer you up. Sorry. You plan on telling me why your phone's been off all day?" Oh, so it _was_ revenge. 

The only way being reminded of the banana fucking was going to cheer Jean up was if he didn't know that he'd done much worse things than just shove fruit up his ass. Of course, Marco didn't know that, and Jean would never tell Marco about those things.

Jean sighed and shrugged again, "Yeah, gimme a minute, okay?" And thank goodness Marco had the sense not to say any sassy remarks about how it'd been a minute already or something stupid like that. That most certainly wouldn't have cheered Jean up.

Once he saw one of the employees mozy over, Jean made a snap decision and leaned over towards Marco, "Cake Batter with graham crackers mixed in." He whispered quickly before stepping back to the side. Marco glanced at him for a second, and he looked like he was holding back laughter. Okay so, Jean went a bit on the vanilla side with his flavors, so what? He was cutting back on the fat and chocolate, what else was he supposed to get? Sweet Cream with whipped cream on top? Too boring.

Jean let Marco order for them both, and he hated when Marco stopped for a second to look at him when they were asked if they wanted any extra toppings or mix ins. He knew what he wanted, otherwise he would have told Marco something different!

Then there was the magic of the mixing in part. How could anyone perfectly mix ice cream and candy with two metal _sticks_ and do it so fast? Maybe he could get a job in the summer, let them teach him how they did it, then quit so he could do it at home.

Cold Stone was not the only ice cream shop that had a... cold stone, that they used to mix ice cream and toppings without it becoming a melty mess, but Jean thought they were either the first to do it or they just couldn't think of a good name for the damn place when it first opened up. Either way, Jean couldn't get this kind of stuff at Basken Robbins or an ice cream truck. That's what made it special for him when he got to eat at one. It was over priced in his opinion, but what did he know about the value of ice cream?

When it was time to pay Marco looked like he was going to hand the bag of candy over to Jean, but he ended up jerking to the side and setting it on the floor instead. Did he think Jean was going to steal his nasty assortment of candy? Jean wanted to ask, but the only two employees behind the counter were both there, watching, and he didn't need that kind of awkward situation. He knew he looked like a mess and his voice wasn't completely back to normal yet. Sure, the employees didn't know or care, but Jean still didn't want to come off as a pathetic train wreck.

Marco handed over both cups of ice cream, and Jean took that as his opportunity to go find a table. He picked the one that was furthest away from the counter, door, and the other customer. It was right next to the case full of pre-made cakes and tubs of ice cream, and Jean couldn't help staring at them all.

Today was definitely not a day that Jean would be able to, for the first time, take a tub of Cold Stone ice cream home with him. It would've been just the thing to make him feel better in the middle of the night when he was too lazy to cook, but not in the mood for chips as a snack. But Jean still had his acne to worry about, and as nice as stuffing his face with good ice cream would have been, he wasn't ready for the consequences.

Marco sat down across from Jean and set some napkins and a couple of spoons on the tiny table, "Why'd you get _cake batter_?" Jean turned to look at Marco and shrugged before grabbing a spoon and going to dig into his ice cream. Normally Jean liked to get anything and everything, because well, when else would he be able to? Chocolate mixed with Cheesecake was what Jean normally got, along with a bunch of candy bars crushed and mixed in.

"Why didn't _you_ get cake batter?" Jean asked after he'd taken his first bite of ice cream. It was just as good as Cake Batter could be, but even then, it still tasted better than the birthday cake flavors you could get at the store. Although looking at what Marco got, Jean almost wished he'd gotten it. Strawberry and bananas tasted good together, but Jean couldn't even remember the last time he'd been able to eat a banana.

"I'm trying to eat healthier...?" Marco almost sounded confused, and Jean honestly thought he was joking for a second. 

He kicked the bag of candy with his foot gently a few times for emphasis, "Uh huh, what's all this then?" There was nothing healthy about pounds of candy. "And, even if you are sharing it, how'd you convince your mom to let you buy so damn much of it and then get ice cream?" It wasn't like Marco's birthday was that close, so it certainly wasn't an early birthday shopping spree.

Marco looked down at his ice cream for a second, and Jean could see him sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and biting it. Jean was suspicious but didn't know what to think, so he just went back to eating his own ice cream. He didn't have the energy to fight him immediately. 

Maybe Marco agreed to go into the military or something and his mom was so happy, that tons of candy and ice cream was her way of celebrating? God that was, that was worst case scenario right there. Jean just couldn't imagine Marco in a uniform! But then he thought about it, and he really liked the idea of Marco in a uniform.... Was Jean really into that? Maybe. A little. If it was Marco anyway. It wasn't like he watched weird scenario porn with people in "sexy uniforms" or anything like that, he wasn't that into it at least. Marco in a uniform was just a nice image, that was all!

When Marco spoke, he was quiet and looked a little embarrassed, "Uhm, I sort of, well I told my mom that you were upset and, and that I wanted to cheer you up a little." Thank goodness he was paying more attention to his ice cream than Jean, because Jean had gotten lost in thought for a minute imagining Marco in a uniform, being all formal and assertive, and other things, and Jean had to pretend he didn't have a slight boner at the thought.

Of course nothing could kill a boner faster than being told his very private feelings, which Jean trusted Marco with, had been shared with someone who was most definitely _not_ Marco. "You? Oh come on, what the hell Marco?" Jean didn't shout, and he didn't even sound that angry, he just sucked on his teeth and shook his head, disappointed more so than upset. It was one thing to talk about private things to other friends, but it just didn't feel right to know that another adult knew private things about kids who weren't their own.

Marco looked stressed, a little desperate even, as he tried to defend himself. "I didn't say anything bad! It's just, I was worried, and you were ignoring me all day and I had to do _something_ to try and cheer you up, and, I don't have as much of my allowance as I used to and I needed money."

Jean scoffed once he heard that, "Oh come on you don't need money to make me happy." As much as they both loved money, nice food, and expensive shit, he thought they both understood it wasn't the reason they were best friends. It was a nice set up, like a couple of symbiotic parasites getting the best out of life from each other, but it wasn't that kind of stuff that made them friends in the first place. Jean couldn't remember that far back, but he was sure they didn't learn how to mooch off each other until at least middle school.

"Oh I know," Marco said, the desperate kicked puppy expression on his face disappearing as he leaned over towards the bag of candy. "But, I can't get this without money." He sat back up in his chair and set a white paper bag in the center of the table, a smile spread across his face.

Maybe it was a trick or another joke, but Jean grabbed it anyway without thinking twice about it. He peeked into the bag, and it took him a second to realize what he was looking at before he breathed out of his nose a little and groaned, setting the bag back down on the table. "I could _kiss you_ right now." Jean said it quietly, but seriously, and pushed his ice cream to the side.

What could possibly be inside a little bag that could make Jean seriously talk about kissing Marco without it "sounding gay"? Marshmallows. Big marshmallows dipped in caramel, sprinkled with salt, dipped in chocolate, and coated in graham cracker crumbs.

They were _disgustingly_ sweet, but that was why Jean and Marco loved them so much. Not only that, they were expensive. They were sold by weight, at a completely different candy store than Jean had thought Marco went to based on the other bags he saw, and they generally went for around 4 dollars a piece. And Marco had gotten him 5.

Jean opened one of the individually wrapped marshmallows, throwing all his worries about dairy and chocolate to the wind, and tried to shove the whole thing in his mouth before realizing he'd probably choke to death on it. Instead, he bit it in half. He tried not to look like a thirsty slut as he devoured half of it, his mouth salivating at the overload of sugar that not even Cake Batter ice cream could contain. 

It was so fucking _good_ , when people talk about salted caramel they aren't messing around, it's an amazingly good kind of buttery shit that just doesn't exist anywhere else in any way. Chocolate and salt? Eh. Not the same. Not for Jean.

Marco didn't make a single noise, not even when Jean said he could kiss him, and not when Jean practically moaned after chewing the marshmallow monstrosity a little. Congratulations to him for putting up with Jean's bullshit. 

"So, you're not gonna have your ice cream then?" Marco knew him so well, not even needing to question Jean's behavior. Good on him. He really deserved a nice little kiss on the cheek. Not that Jean would do that. That'd be weird, even for very close friends.

"Fuck ice cream." Jean said a little too loudly, the marshmallow mess in his mouth stuck in between his cheek and his teeth. Hopefully the employees didn't hear him? Marco nodded, looking like he was doing everything he could not to laugh, "Riiight, so, I can have it?" He pulled Jean's ice cream cup towards him and pulled the spoon out, placing it on one of the napkins.

Jean said nothing at first, until he swallowed the first half of his marshmallow and could talk without sounding like an idiot. "Did you... did you plan this?" It all seemed very convenient enough. Marco was broke and had a sweet tooth, and in the process of trying to cheer Jean up he got tons of candy, and two cups of Cold Stone ice cream.

Marco looked a little surprised, but shook his head, "No, I was going to save these until tomorrow, so I could surprise you for Valentine's Day. But you looked so _miserable_ I thought it'd just be better if I gave them to you now. Extra ice cream's just a bonus. Don't, don't tell my mom. This is supposed to be for you." He sounded less triumphantly pleasant at the last part, and it was Jean's turn to want to laugh. As if he'd ever be a little tattle tale over some damn ice cream.

However, it was really nice to hear that Marco really had been planning to get something nice for Jean for Valentine's Day. But it also bugged him a little that Marco had one-upped him so perfectly. Jean gave him 5 bucks for candy and Marco went and bought 15-20 dollars worth of fancy ass candy in return. He knew Marco wasn't doing it just to be better or anything, but it'd be nice if he let Jean get the nicer gift for once!

"Ice cream, my favorite fancy candy, and after what you got me for Christmas? If I didn't know any better I'd say you were flirting with me." Jean didn't know where his mind was when he'd said that, and as soon as he had let the words slip out of his mouth he immediately regretted it and felt the sudden stiff, awkwardness fill the air between them. He felt like he needed a good, sharp stab in the ribs as punishment for being so stupid. Why not just scream at Marco that he'd love to suck his dick while he was at it?

It was only for a moment that the tension stuck, and Jean quickly shoved the other half of the marshmallow in his mouth to avoid having to say anything. Maybe a few months ago, a comment like that wouldn't have meant anything to Marco other than a sarcastic joke, but things were different now, which was clear by how Marco had reacted even slightly to what Jean said. He looked stunned for a second, and then embarrassed, but Jean didn't pay much attention.

The kissing comment had been one thing, but Jean was pushing it. He still didn't know if Marco liked guys, and who knew if that would have made the situation better or worse?

"Is free stuff all it takes for you? I _think_ I could do better than that." Marco said it like it hadn't bothered him at all. He just started stealing little bits of ice cream from Jean's cup and putting it on top of his own.

Jean didn't know how to react. Was it better to completely change the subject? "I, thought the only way you ever flirt was with gifts?" He was mostly paying attention to the bag of marshmallows, but he did look up to see that Marco was confused. "Y'know," Jean gestured with his hands a little, "Story of Seasons? How many times have you played it now?" With 3 whole copies of the damn thing Jean was praying Marco actually used them all somehow. He wasn't sure how long it took to beat the game, but with how much Marco liked playing them it couldn't have been too much time, right?

Marco looked flustered, and he started poking the ice cream with his spoon, "Th-there's more to do than that. There's romance, and dates.... Hey uh are you gonna tell me why your mom called me?" Jean had teased Marco enough over all of those fake relationships to have known it probably wasn't going to do him any favors. But it'd been a while, and how could he pass up such a nice opportunity? Even with what Jean did know about the games he still didn't really know how much "romancing" could actually go on in them.

If only Jean could keep up the teasing and make Marco struggle, as he tried to defend all of his fake girlfriends, wives, and god knows what else. Boyfriends, hopefully, but Jean never heard anything from Marco about romancing _men_ in video games. There was still the chance that Marco was just deep in the closet and didn't even risk romancing boys in games, because anyone could see if they looked into his save files, but who in his life would be that nosy?

There really wasn't a good subject Jean could change things to either. He knew they were going to talk, and this was really as good a place as any to talk in as much privacy as either of them could get right now. But what was he supposed to say? Thinking things through was something Jean never did in a very logical way, always ending up in exaggerations or worst case scenarios. It made coming up with good things to say harder.

He felt all kinds of thing in the past day, he'd been nervous and jealous, envious, self pitying, sad, angry, pretty much everything there was to feel that wasn't happy. If he said that he'd been upset about his looks, because he'd been thinking about what Marco told him, then he was just going to make things worse for himself. How could anyone explain it without it sounding bad?

Jean decided that he could just skip all the self incriminating details and get to the point, and maybe that'd be enough to satisfy Marco without necessarily lying. "Uhhh... I felt like shit yesterday, because y'know Valentine's Day's coming up and sometimes it just makes me feel like crap? And I was crying when my mom came home and she wouldn't go away until I gave her a good reason why I was upset, so, so I said you got into 'n argument with me and I didn't say what it was about."

He kept his voice low from the start, but he got even quieter as he continued explaining. There was no way Jean wanted the employees to eavesdrop either on purpose or by mistake. "She _thought_ we were fighting over a girl or something? And I told her that wasn't it but she just wouldn't listen, and I just wanted her to leave, so, I told her I was gay."

Marco hadn't interrupted, and Jean wasn't completely finished with the story, but maybe the shock was enough to make him need to interrupt anyway, "Oh. Oh, oh okay-- How'd she react?" Jean wanted to slap Marco's hand and tell him to turn it down a notch, but he couldn't really blame Marco that much for being surprised. The last time they'd had a serious discussion about why Jean was still in the closet to pretty much everyone, Jean stressed the fact that the second his family knew things would change for him and he just wasn't ready for it yet. To Marco it must've sounded like a huge leap in opinions in only a 6 week period of time.

"I was _getting to that_ ," Jean huffed, leaning on his hand and staring at the marshmallows. He wanted another one, but it would have been hard to sound serious with a sticky, fat mess in his mouth. "Sorry." Marco said more quietly, settling back in his chair and returning to his ice cream.

As much as Jean could explain in great detail how his mother sounded, what she did, he didn't know exactly how she'd been feeling, so how accurate could he be on how she really reacted? "I dunno. She was really quiet about it yesterday, and this morning. Hey, how did your parents take it? Y'know, when they found out Ymir was a lesbian?" Maybe it was just self defense that Jean was changing the subject to someone else, but it was still something he genuinely wanted to know.

He looked up when Marco didn't immediately respond, and he waited some more, longer than he normally would have for something so important. At some point Marco must have realized Jean wasn't going to continue until he got something out of him, because he just shook his head slightly and put his spoon down. "I don't know Jean, I was like, 6, I can barely remember that kind of stuff."

Jean believed him. After all, Jean's memories of being young were all messed up. He could remember what flavor his birthday cake was when he turned 6, but not for when he turned 7. He could remember the day Marco told him that his cat died and was a sobbing mess back when they were in 4th grade, but not when or how they'd first met. Memories were a god awful messy jumble the further back they went. Everyone always remembered the most mundane, random shit from their childhood.

"Okay," Jean started, not bothering to make eye contact. "But did they know?" He already knew the answer to the most obvious question; "Did they kick her out and curse her like the homophobic bigots every gay person fears their family might be?". Marco's parents seemed accepting enough considering the harshest punishments Jean had ever seen them place had nothing to do with "deviation from the norm". Jean just wanted to know if they could tell before they were actually told about it.

Marco sucked his lips in a little and shook his head again, and then he sighed, "I don't know." Jean sunk a little on the inside when he picked up on the tone of Marco's voice. It really sucked sometimes, having someone like Marco around who knew Jean enough to know when not to say anything even when Jean was asking for it. But it worked both ways, and not answering was just the same as answering.

" _Whatever_ ," Jean muttered, "I talked to my mom this morning and she put on this big fuckin' show, breakfast ready and acting all cheery. Just to get me to sit down so she could talk to me, to act like everything would stay normal, y'know the whole 'this family is loving and accepting' speech? She kept, makin' a big deal out of it, like it was crazy and life changing, but like it was so, I dunno so, small or something that everyone was _actually_ going to act normal or whatever with me. It just, pisses me off. I mean I told her I'm gay, not bi, but same difference for now I guess."

The last part didn't seem to go over well with Marco, not that Jean was paying attention to whatever expression was on Marco's face. "Wait, what? You didn't tell her you were bi?" He sounded confused, like in disbelief. In a negative way. 

Jean looked up and shrugged with his right shoulder, "She wasn't gonna shut up about the whole, 'fighting over a girl' thing if I said I was bi. She doesn't need to know right now anyway."

Marco blinked, as if he couldn't understand what Jean was saying and was trying to translate. "You.... Wait, wait but, isn't that going to be a _little_ confusing if you come home one day with a girlfriend?"

That was so funny to Jean that he openly laughed, and if it hadn't been for such a pathetic reason it might've made him feel good. "If that happens then I'll tell her, but c'mon man be serious. Look at me, I'm not gettin' a girlfriend any time soon. That's why I was _trying_ to avoid dairy and chocolate today. Thanks for this by the way." Jean made a little gesture with his free hand to the ice cream and marshmallows.

Marco frowned, slouching a little in his chair, "Okay those things are myths, but, Jean are you sure this is just about Valentine's Day? I know you said you're not upset about what happened, but...." He looked and sounded so sad, so hurt, Jean just wanted to punch himself for leading Marco to that kind of conclusion.

"Okay, Marco look," Jean sighed, sitting up straight and forcing himself to look Marco in the eye. "I, I lied, alright? I don't... _like_ like Mikasa, okay? And I didn't last year either. I'm, I'm not saying she's not _amazing_ or anything but, you gotta stop this okay? The only thing that bugs me about what you guys did is that she's, she's really," He had to look away then. " _Attractive_. I mean I wouldn't've said no either. And, that you didn't tell me sooner. So, two things."

He was embarrassed as he looked back to Marco, who now looked rather stiff and uncomfortable. Did Marco think he was lying? Technically Jean was leaving out a few truths as to why he was upset about the whole thing, like the whole part involving Jean wishing he could have sex with Marco. But that wasn't the kind of detail he should have been sharing anyway.

Marco looked down at both cups of ice cream and started to use his spoon to rotate the scoops in their cups, the bottoms having melted. "...Seriously? I-- You had me worried for nothing? Why? I mean, when'd you stop liking her? You didn't tell me." He looked like he was having a hard time believing it and thought Jean was just saying things to make the conversation go smoother. Which Jean kind of was, but he wasn't exactly lying either.

"I don't remember telling you I liked her like that in the first place, honestly." Jean said sheepishly, biting the insides of his cheeks to stop his blushing. Yeah there'd been times when he'd said how much he thought Mikasa was attractive and whatnot, but Jean's first and only _genuine_ crush was Marco. Anything, and anybody else, was a secondary thought at best. Mikasa just happened to be a very, very attractive second thought. "I mean, what was I supposed to tell you up until last month? That I thought guys were hot too?"

It was easy to just talk about Mikasa like she was the be all and end all for relationship goals, but Jean didn't really say that explicitly even when he was trying to pass himself off as purely, 100% straight. Maybe all this time, Marco thought Jean hadn't come out to him because he thought that Jean actually liked Mikasa? Even then, they didn't really talk about crushes. 

Why did Marco ever assume that Jean _really_ liked anyone? Anyone with brains could see that Mikasa was attractive, but that didn't mean they were in love with her or anything. Not that Jean would turn down a date or sex from her, but those things are completely separate from having a crush on a person.

Sure, sure, Jean wanted dates and sex and cuddles and everything else from Marco, but he didn't form a crush on Marco just because he was an attractive sweetheart. Alright maybe puberty had the upper hand in the beginning, but that wasn't all it took to make Jean get nasty butterflies in his stomach when Marco held his hand or fell asleep snuggled up next to him on a couch.

Marco rubbed his face with his hand, "Why didn't you tell me the other day?" He whispered, embarrassment clear on his face. Jean shrugged and picked at his fingernails from under the table. "I dunno it didn't seem like a big deal! A-and you were so freaked out about it I didn't wanna make you seem like an idiot." A lie. Jean hadn't really had a clear, strategic plan, but the real reason he probably didn't have a crush on Mikasa was because he was already in love with someone else.

How could he have explained that before as opposed to just shrugging and saying what Marco did was okay? Who knows, if Marco had never moved into town back then Jean might just be a lonely asshole with a crush on Mikasa. He might've even fallen in love with someone else. The thought made Jean want to gag. He wasn't sure if soul mates were real, but he accepted the fact that emotions were chemicals and there would be nothing stopping his body from telling him to chase after someone else if Marco was never there.

Plus he'd seen the romance movies! Person falls in love, but then they meet their "soul mate" and suddenly everything changes. Soul mate or not, if Marco hadn't been with Jean when they were growing up, then there'd be no Marco for Jean to have gotten a crush on on the first place. Simple, scary math.

"But, I don't...? I mean you, you acted like she was _perfect_. Why don't you like her?" Marco still sounded confused, but he sounded more disappointed now. Jean couldn't even guess as to why. 

"Why don't _you_ like her?" Jean asked back, remembering all the times Marco hadn't only agreed with Jean about how much Mikasa had going for her, but had been the one to start the conversations in the first place.

Marco looked up, stunned, and he couldn't hide his blushing. It was an awkward and uncomfortable moment of silence, and the whole time Jean was just hoping Marco'd say he was gay and that's why he didn't like Mikasa. But that wasn't the truth, and even if it were why would Marco come out at Cold Stone of all places? 

"I-I don't need a girlfriend!" Marco was avoiding eye contact as he tried to defend himself, but Jean would've seen it as a terrible excuse no matter how Marco was acting. "And why're you making this about me? I just wanted to know what's going on, so, why don't _you_ like her?"

On any other day, Jean might just sit back and take his sweet time interrogating Marco about his lack of a love life, and tease him to no end. But Jean didn't have the energy or patience for that now. "Uh huh.... Okay, I'm not saying I wouldn't date her I'm just saying I don't have a crush on her, okay? And why're you upset? It's not like I've got a chance with her like you do. My acne isn't getting any better any time soon, it's a good thing I _don't_ like her like that." As if anyone could forget Jean's acne infested face and what it generally meant for his social life.

Jean cleared his throat, and tried to prepare himself to sound convincing. "That'd just be, uhm, torture." He wished it were as easy as repeating logic into his brain to make his love for Marco to go away. It was torture, and he wanted it to hurt less, but even all the paranoia of rejection wasn't enough to make Jean fall out of love. It sucked. Really though when did it ever not suck? Aside from his imagination Jean was just a thirsty, miserable, attention hungry mess.

The way Marco looked at Jean changed, he looked sorry but he didn't say anything. Jean wanted to roll his eyes, because he knew that Marco was pitying him, and Jean hated pity to no end. He knew that Marco never liked the way Jean talked about himself sometimes, about the acne all over his face and how horrendous it was. And it was nice that Marco didn't want him to feel bad, but he didn't really have the right to be all pitying when he never really had any bad acne like Jean did. It was annoying.

"Jean," Oh boy here he goes again, trying to say something to boost Jean's self esteem. "I know your acne's really bad sometimes, but you, your _face_ still looks nice. I mean you can still see that under your zits your face isn't messed up or anything, y'know?"

Maybe it was a good thing that Jean had cried so much and his eyelids were still puffy, because maybe Marco couldn't recognize the exasperated stare Jean was giving him. "So you're saying the skin under all my acne's nice? What, what's _nice_ about red everywhere and the scars from the ones that don't go away before they _pop_?"

He leaned back in his chair and resisted the urge to touch his face, sighing, "It, it _is_ my face, Marco! It's _on_ my skin and under it, because it _is_ my skin, okay!? Stop saying stuff about how my skin's okay under the acne, alright, because that's like saying dead people are alive if you ignore the dead part. Or, or that fat people are thin if you ignore the fat part, it's ridiculous, okay?" Jean should have probably taken a deep breath or something to calm down, but he wasn't focused on trying to relax at all.

Marco, unfortunately, wasn't done yet, "Alright well, why would you wanna date anyone who only cares about your acne anyway? Anyone who's worth it wouldn't care about it." 

Jean wanted to groan when he heard that, but settled for breathing through his nose and giving Marco the evil eye instead. "Yeah because no one who's nice is even the least bit superficial or, disgusted by acne-- Which they should be! Would you have had sex with Mikasa if she had a bunch of acne? Like, really bad acne like me?"

God bless Jean's anger, otherwise he would have been a flustered, blushing mess for even making that kind of comparison. The question really caught Marco by surprise, and Jean waited enough time for an answer before scoffing and leaning on his hand again, "Exactly. So shut up." It was unsurprising, but disheartening, to really know that Marco was most _definitely_ never going to have sex with Jean. But at least Jean still had his fantasies to hold onto.

"Well, I think you're cute." Marco said seriously, catching Jean by surprise now. The whole conversation could have been over already, but for some reason Jean couldn't think of, Marco wasn't dropping the subject.

"Don't...." Jean breathed, "Don't do that." It would have been nice if Marco really thought he was cute, but it was a lie and Jean knew it was a lie, even if Marco did look and sound serious, it was just a lie. A shitty lie born out of pity.

Marco raised one of his eyebrows, clearly confused, "Do what?" 

Jean couldn't help but groan this time, but he couldn't let himself be openly angry. "The thing, that everyone's friends and family do. Lie. Lie 'n say that all their friends are cute, funny, smart and have a nice personality or, or, _whatever_ the fuck they think will make ugly people feel better. You're only saying that because we're friends. Stop it." 

It was no different than when his Nana said he was a "handsome young man" or when all his extended family used to joke that he was a "looker who'd get all the girls one day". They were bullshit lies that, most of his family, stopped telling so boldly once Jean's acne appeared. It didn't make him feel better, things like that only made him feel worse. And he was sure Marco already knew that.

"Okay I don't compliment random people, but I mean it! I'm not just saying it, okay? You're cute, honest." Marco was smiling a little, but Jean couldn't decide if that was because he was trying to cover up that he was lying or because he was holding back laughter as best as he could.

Jean still wasn't buying it, but he sat normally in his seat again and shrugged anyway, "'Kay. So then what's so great about me that's better than you? _Physically_ , because that's what people care about first. Besides hair." The answer was nothing. Marco was better in almost every conceivable way, aside from the aforementioned hair, but whatever. 

"What's wrong with my hair?" Marco asked, lifting his hand up to touch his head defensively. "Nothing." Jean sighed, although he would have liked to say "everything".

Marco stopped smiling and made a quiet gasp, "What, are you really asking me to... to insult myself?"

Jean snorted, "You don't have to call yourself ugly, I can be better than you at something without saying you're _bad_ at it." Excuses excuses, did Marco think he could get out of admitting the truth just by pretending he was being guilt tripped? Marco looked good, and they both knew that. His face, his legs, his body, his _legs_ , they were all perfect by a long shot.

Again, Jean tried not to let his mind wander too much, since another boner wasn't going to help him at all. Keeping eye contact with Marco the whole time didn't help with that though. But he wanted to see Marco struggle to clean up his pitying, disgusting lie. Marco deserved to struggle and feel shame after putting Jean through that almost-false-hope conversation.

Eventually, after too much time, Marco's demeanor changed, looking confident rather than anxious. "Your eyes! Your eyes are better than mine. Mine're brown, that's boring." 

What a let down. "No," Jean muttered, unimpressed, "Brown's just common, it's not boring." He gave Marco all that time and the best he could come up with was his eyes? Unbelievable. 

Marco stayed firm though, "Brown's _everywhere_. Trees. Dirt. Garbage. It's, it's bland, and everyone has brown eyes-- But not hazel."

Jean would give him a pat on the back for trying if he hadn't felt so insulted about before, but he'd be lying if he wasn't appreciating it a little more now. "Yeah? And the color of dead grass, that's any better? That's around all year long in my yard."

Marco sighed, "I still think your eyes are, uhm, nice." Whatever. 

"Well, congratulations, you've pinpointed the one thing we can both change pretty easily. Colored contacts exist." Jean wasn't trying to be difficult, but really, couldn't Marco have pointed out something less... simple? Easily fix-able problems didn't count as problems, otherwise Jean would have way more body image issues than just his face.

Marco frowned, "What do I have to do to get you to believe you're cute?" A kiss on the cheek would be nice? Jean couldn't ask for that though. 

"Get me a hot date?" Jean asked instead with a sigh, bringing his hand back up to lean on as he eyed the bag of marshmallows.

Marco hummed, like he was thinking of something. "Maybe for your birthday? Buuut, I can't really do that if no one knows you're uh, available." 

Jean looked up at that, confused. "Literally like, everyone knows I'm single, what're you talking about?" Marco lowered his voice, "Well I think I'm the only person _lucky_ enough to see your porn collection." He looked smug, and Jean wanted to slap the smirk right off his face for saying something as embarrassing as that in public.

Taken aback, Jean immediately pushed his chair back, sitting straight up and looking away, "So what?" He hissed, trying to hide the blush on his face from, well, everyone. "I mean," Marco started, "Girls don't know you like girls and, and guys don't know you like guys. No one at school knows you're bi. If you're not going to ask anyone out, maybe some other people haven't hit on you because they just, I dunno, they don't know if you could like them or not?"

Jean's eyes kept darting back and forth between glancing at Marco and staring at the window. "That's bullshit, everyone thinks everyone's straight, if girls thought I was cute they'd say something. _You_ don't even have to say you're straight, and everyone already knows." Between the way Marco openly expressed his... interest, in fictional relationships, and what happened with Mikasa, anyone would assume Marco liked girls.

"Gimme a break Jean," Marco sighed, "Do you talk about girls with anyone besides me? People don't know if you even like girls.... How can you expect anything to happen if you don't do anything? I... I only did, uhm...." Marco cleared his throat, "What I did, with Miaksa because she, she asked! If you, and everyone else, just waited until each other asked people things then nothing would ever happen." Jean hated when Marco had a point.

If only it were so easy as to ask anyone, namely Marco, and just hope for the best. "Okay," Jean lowered his hand to start scratching at the other, so he could make himself stop blushing. "What if... I asked a girl, but _she_ was gay and I didn't know? What, what then?" Asking for relationship advice from the person he wanted to be in a relationship with just felt weird.

But Marco just gave Jean a smile anyway, completely unaware, "I think you should just ask. I mean, thinking someone's gay isn't the same thing as them being gay, so you have to at least _ask_ to find out." Bleugh. The same basic advice everyone gave. As if any of that were news to him. 

"What would you do if you didn't know?" Jean asked it with caution, afraid that he might somehow tip Marco off about how Jean really felt.

Instead he got a hasty shrug as Marco became slightly flustered again, "I-- It's not about me, I told you what you should do. And b-besides I don't, I don't date so I wouldn't have to do anything." No dates, but sex? Maybe, if anything, Jean could have some kind of friends with benefits agreement with Marco? That'd be something. Not enough to make Jean happy, but still something. "Face it, we're both going to be single forever." Jean muttered, finally giving into his desire for another marshmallow and opening the bag.

"Awh, don't say that." Marco said, deflated. "Y'know, I hear Eren's single, and pretty lonely right about now." Something about the way Marco said that though, interested Jean, but only slightly. There was something Marco knew that Jean didn't, but enough people could see that Eren had been reduced to an over achieving mess for Armin ever since winter break ended. Endlessly trying to patch their friendship back up, from what Jean understood.

"I'm not _that_ desperate." Jean scoffed right before biting into the new marshmallow. "And I don't think he's getting over Armin any time soon." That's when Jean remembered that Armin called Marco yesterday too. Why hadn't Marco asked about that yet? "Oh, what uh, what'd Armin tell you on the phone yesterday?" His words were a sort of slurred since he had so much marshmallow stuck in the side of his cheek.

Marco shrugged, "Oh, yeah. He just kept saying that I didn't explain things right when I talked to you the other day and that you were upset with him because, he knew what happened before you did.But really, if Mikasa hadn't told anyone then I don't think you would've heard about it." Marco snickered under his breath, like he'd remembered a funny joke. 

"Y'know what he told me? He said to 'stop asking the guy who doesn't care about romance for relationship advice', can you believe that? Armin always wants a say in everything and now he gets upset about it." Marco finished, although he didn't look nearly as amused as his tone would've suggested. But Jean had unintentionally ignored a few bits, more interested in the parts involving Marco directly.

Jean swallowed what was left in his mouth and sat up, curious, "What kind of relationship advice could _you_ need from him?" It could have just been that he was tired, but Jean thought for a second that Marco looked worried. But the second came and went, maybe even faster than a second. "Oh no, he was talking about you. Don't tell him I told you, I don't want him to get mad."

Not questioning anything, Jean shrugged and went for another bite of the marshmallow. Marco looked like he was about to take another scoop of ice cream, but it was so melted down it barely had any form to it anymore. "I think he's just mad because Eren's been obsessed with him forever and he had no idea." 

Was that it? Jean didn't really think Eren was _obsessed_ with Armin. He knew that Eren had somehow convinced Armin not to move to another state with his parents back in middle school. But, while that seemed a little extreme, if not impressive, to keep in touch with a friend, Jean never thought it was obsessive of Eren.

But Jean wasn't a genius, since he hadn't even known Eren had a crush on Armin until recently. Maybe he missed some things that should have been obvious. "D'you think they'll stay friends?" Jean asked, his mouth still full. It made him nervous, knowing how bad things had turned out between Eren and Armin since New Year's. He didn't want anything like that to happen between himself and Marco, he'd never live with himself.

Of course, Jean had the sense to know that if Marco rejected him to not constantly try forcing it to happen. He gave Eren some credit for trying, but even he knew it was useless and rude to keep trying in the ways that he did. It was never going to happen, he had to move on at some point.

Marco shrugged, "I dunno. I think so? Everyone falls out of love at some point. It's the same with crushes, and when Eren gets over it they can try to make up and go back to being friends again." Jean was shocked to hear that, and he had to replay it in his mind a couple of times to make sure he heard right. For someone who was so dedicated to romancing video game characters, Marco didn't sound like he believed in romance very much.

"You don't think they can still be friends if Eren still likes him?" Jean mumbled almost too quietly to hear between the marshmallow and the fact that he was trying to stay quiet to begin with. 

If Marco noticed the anxiety in Jean's voice, he didn't think it was important enough to mention, "Eren thinks he's helping or something, like he's doing the right thing by pushing it so hard, so yeah I don't think so. If it were the other way around then yeah, but Eren's, well... Eren? I don't think he's going to stop until he's done feeling things for Armin."

There was some form of relief that came from that, and Jean relaxed. He didn't know how long he'd be in love with Marco if he were rejected by him, but he didn't want to do anything to ruin their friendship either. "No" was an answer Jean had to be willing to take. Maybe Eren forgot that he was supposed to be Armin's friend? Of course, Jean loved Marco to no end but he couldn't see himself trying to kiss Marco or anything after being rejected.

Jean wanted to tell Marco now more than ever, what with Valentine's Day being tomorrow, but Jean couldn't do that. Not with what Marco had done for him, the ice cream, the marshmallows, and, hopefully, believing Jean when he'd said he really wasn't that bothered by what Marco did with Mikasa. It really had been too much of a lie, but Marco seemed to believe it or just not want to call Jean out on it. Maybe being such close friends with Marco was worth more than Jean's romantic feelings.

Marco could be right, and in a few years Jean could just, stop loving Marco in that way. Jean wouldn't have to censor himself anymore, and who knows, maybe it'd be a funny story to tell Marco one day. Jean just didn't want to think about things being weird between the two of them, that was all. It'd be crazy to think Jean could keep his feelings a secret for even more years! 

He'd tell Marco, eventually, maybe just not any time soon. But that was okay with him. For now, being just best friends didn't make him feel like he was missing something.

* * *

There was almost nothing Jean wanted more than to just stay home for the rest of the week wallowing in self pity and then building his confidence back up again on the internet in the privacy of his room. But he didn't want to be stepping on eggshells with his mother, who from what Jean could tell, was still trying to look for another "good time" to have another sit down conversation.

At this point Jean was just praying she didn't start asking if there was a guy in Jean's life she should know about. Hard to lie his way out of something like that when his mother definitely knew who Marco was, and if Jean wasn't ready to admit he had a crush on someone then he certainly wasn't willing to admit it was Marco.

Jean did his best not to encourage or aggravate his mother after he got back home from Cold Stone, but now that it was Sunday it was a different story. Normally, Sunday was his mother's book club meeting day, but it was cancelled since it was well, Valentine's Day. All the other annoying old women actually had husbands, or children whose dates they were probably going to spy on. Either way, it meant his mom was going to be home all day, probably just itching to get Jean to talk.

He could walk to Marco's house early. _Really_ early, but then his mom might offer to drive him which would turn into her following Jean into the house and, who knows, asking Marco's parents if there were any new boys that Jean or Marco had been spending time with or something.

Jean wasn't sure if his mom would out him to other people than family, even if those people were ones Jean had known half his life, but he certainly wasn't interested in seeing it. If she was going to poke and prod every last person Jean had contact with until she could figure out if he was dating someone or not, fine, but she could do it on the phone.

In the end Jean had decided to just wait it out, and when he was supposed to leave he could just slip out of the house when his mom wasn't looking. He tried his best not to freak out too much about his plans with Marco. It wasn't a date, they spent Valentine's Day together almost every year whether it was a school day or not. For whatever reason though, the pressure was on and he wasn't sure what he should wear.

Jean wasn't the one who took forever deciding what to wear, usually he'd only change if he realized he'd worn something too many days in a single week or if it smelled weird. But he didn't want to look _too_ nice, because there was no way Marco was dressing nice when the plan was to sit around like sloths stuffing their faces with garbage in the dark watching people get murdered on Netflix.

If he dressed down too much, though, he'd just look like a slob! And sure, Marco already knew Jean was a slob, but Jean still wanted to kind of impress Marco without looking like he was trying to do anything.

Did that make sense? Did any of that, seem like a logical, reasonable thing for Jean to want? He's clearly no expert on dating but he's really trying! It wasn't like he was going to confess tonight, but there was nothing wrong with taking little baby steps towards it, right? Jean was _not_ smooth, he could admit that, but if Marco could make him weak in the knees without even trying to then maybe Jean could subtly do a fraction of a fraction of the same thing to him!

Jean had two pairs of pants he was currently debating on: A pair of comfy black pants, and a pair of jeans that he swears makes his butt look _really_ good. Probably because they were, admittedly, a pair of women's pants he'd accidentally bought in the clearance section of Target _but_ , no one had to know that. He cut the size tag off forever ago just to keep that secret. Because they were women's pants they were kind of uncomfortable around his legs though, and not in the "so tight it's sexy" kind of way. More like, circulation being cut off sometimes.

So, what was more important? Looking good or feeling good? Honestly, Jean felt like he was never really allowed to have either, but what his face didn't have the rest of his body definitely _did_ have. Even if he was an average piece of crap with confidence levels about as inconsistent as his religious beliefs.

He could just wear shorts or something, then he could show off his perfectly waxed legs? Jean used to try and get Marco to feel his legs after he'd shaved but Marco always said no, because he thought it was weird that Jean even shaved to begin with. His loss. Nothing's as smooth or soft as shaved legs.

What was the point again? Right, _right_ , clothes, pants, Jean's ass and whether or not he wanted it to look exceptional tonight. Would Marco even notice if Jean had a nice ass? Would he even mention it? No and no probably, but that wasn't really the point, was it? "Hmmm...." Jean hummed, picking up the comfy pants and looking them over. Black was, what did fashion forward people say, slimming? "I'm not fat." Jean huffed to himself, throwing the pants back down on his bed and grabbing the jeans instead.

On the off chance that Marco did notice what Jean was wearing, things could either get really awkward really fast, or Marco could just assume that Jean had prepared for very different, secret plans. Or Jean could just lie and say it was the only thing clean? That was the most believable thing anyway.

Jean tossed them onto the bed with a sigh, deciding he'd stick with his comfortable black pants instead. As great as it'd be to have his ass looking pristine, Jean couldn't act natural if his legs were itchy from lack of blood flow all night. Disappointed, as usual, he sat on his bed and started to put the pants on.

Now he just needed to decide on a shirt! And, if he was going to wear any perfume. Or cologne. What was even the difference between those two, was it just that men hated the word perfume and thought cologne sounded manlier? Did Jean even _own_ any cologne? Maybe he could just spritz himself with some banana extract from the kitchen and turn Marco on that way? The image alone seemed funny until Jean started to imagine Marco going down on him like all the times Marco would suck on a banana and deep throat the damned things.

Jean squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine as many dead puppies as his mind could handle. He really neededto keep his cool tonight. Getting a boner every time his mind fell off the wagon and into an ocean of sin wasn't going to be tolerated. It was supposed to be just a nice day between two friends who had nothing better to do, not Jean's personal fantasy time! There was nothing subtle about having a boner all night.

Despite all his huffing, groaning, and inappropriate and uncalled for fantasies, Jean really was excited. Marco never seemed to complain about being single and alone on Valentine's Day, which Jean now understood a little bit more as to why, but Jean certainly hated being lonely and it was nice that Marco was almost always willing to spend the holiday with him. 

Just, now, Jean really wanted to make out with, fuck, and cuddle with him more than he had than any of the previous years. He just had to behave and not do, or say, anything stupid. The ultimate challenge.

* * *

After tons of attire debate and anxiety, Jean had decided what to wear and managed to wait until 4 before trying to sneak out of the house. His mother had been cleaning almost all day, but of course took small breaks to give Jean the "why don't we talk some more?" look. Luckily for Jean, by the time he was planning to get out of the house his mother had finished the downstairs and had no choice but to move upstairs to clean. Jean made sure he had his phone on him, fully charged, and was ready to leave the second his mom went up the stairs.

He was smart enough not to leave immediately though, that would just be too suspicious, and he didn't want to get nagged or be told he wasn't allowed to go to Marco's house because he had to stay home to help clean or something stupid like that. It'd be a nightmare if before he could even make it to the street, his mom would be chasing after him asking him where he was going. All he had to do was wait a little while longer, and then he could leave and just send her a text. It wasn't like she didn't know that practically every year, Jean and Marco spent Valentine's Day together.

Jean texted Marco and told him that he was leaving before getting up and carefully walking towards the front of house. He poked his head around the upstairs railing to hear if his mother was in the hallway at all. After being perfectly still and quiet for a moment or two, Jean decided it was safe to get moving.

Just to be sure his mother wouldn't immediately follow once he left, Jean had to somewhat trick his mother into thinking he was still home. He walked over to the half-bath by the front door, opened it, turned the light on, and then closed the bathroom door again a little louder than necessary just to be sure his mom heard it. If his mom wanted to scold him later, claiming he tricked her or anything "ridiculous" like that, Jean could just lie and say he forgot to turn the light off. It wouldn't be the first time.

He shoved his feet into his sneakers and carefully opened the front door, making sure to close it as slowly and quietly as possible behind him. For a second Jean thought he should speed-walk a little just to get a head start in case his mom heard the door, but he figured he'd be fine. Mostly because he was lazy, but he thought by the time his mom got downstairs and tried to check the bathroom Jean would already be far enough way that she wouldn't have known where to look. Besides, he'd already planned to text her on the way to Marco's so she wouldn't freak out for no reason.

Jean really would have liked it if it'd been snowing today, or the day before. Nothing like the cold as an excuse to warm up to your best friend under a big comforter. Sleepover's with Marco in the winter were pretty good for that. But it just didn't snow in February like it used to. In fact, it snowed more in early March than it ever did in February as far as Jean could tell. 

February just failed at bringing in nice snow days! Was it because it was such a short month? That didn't seem to make sense scientifically to Jean, but February being the only month with 28 days didn't make sense to Jean scientifically either. He knew there was a reason, he'd heard it before, that didn't mean it made sense.

But no, instead February had to be inconsistent with its weather. No snow, no rain, no sun, just dead leaves, salt, and sand in the roads to show for it still technically being winter. If that damn groundhog had just done his job right and predicted 6 more weeks of winter, then maybe, just maybe it could've snowed a couple of feet. It'd probably ruin anyone's plans for going out on Valentine's Day, but if someone couldn't make the person they love feel special even at home then they had to be doing something wrong anyway.

Sometimes Jean would imagine what kind of legitimate dates he'd go on with Marco if they actually were dating, but it was never really consistent. After all, they'd been so close for so long half of the "special" things they did with each other could be considered dates if any two people did it and were dating. The more Jean thought about it, the less he really understood what the point of dates really were.

Aside from kissing or sex is there really any difference between doing something fun with a date or with friends? Not all couples even kissed in public or even hold hands, so not really, right? Jean could think of all kinds of ways he'd want to spend time with Marco differently if they were dating, but dates specifically? How could going out places get any more special?

Most people had dream dates or something, right? Things or places they wanted more than anything for some personal reason or another that'd be even more special as a date? Yeah well, Jean wasn't one of those people. For someone with as wild of an imagination as Jean, he couldn't really see past little things. Cuddling and making out? Sleeping together in the same bed? Really hot sex with some very light choking involved...? Maybe that wasn't a "little thing" but it wasn't extravagant or fancy as far as sex fantasies went.

He shouldn't have been thinking about dates or cute shit to do with Marco anyway, since it was probably just leading him straight up and off a cliff into a pit of miserable pain. But what's wrong with being a little hopeful, or being in denial sometimes? 

And if it all blew up in his face, he could just use that as emotional fuel for his art. He could be one of those "tragic artists". He could use his tears to mix with paint, call it a very personally unique "mixed media" thing. But that was just silly, as if Jean would ever use his tears for anything but getting the oils off his face.

Maybe if the art thing didn't last as a career he could figure out what made tears so perfect for clearing up skin, and bottle it, then sell it for millions. Because Jean's tried almost everything Wal-Mart sells for under 30 dollars and not a single toner or exfoliating face cream could make his skin as soft as it was after a sad, long cry.

Marco's face probably wasn't even at its softest without lots of crying! But his thighs were probably pretty soft, and not a lot of hair grows there as far as Jean knows. He'd like to know how soft _those_ really were. Yeah. Yeah that, that'd be Jean's dream date. Cuddles, but, without pants. Underwear would be fine but, he just had to get to those thighs. 

It was a weird thing to consider a date but this is coming from the same person who actually thought it was okay to stick a holy cross up his ass, so, at least it was tame?

He really had to stop thinking things like that so casually. One slip of the tongue around Marco and then he'd have to try and explain himself. Jokes about your best friend looking hot could only go so far, _especially_ since Jean was open about being gay now. It wasn't like it was harder to shut up now than it had been in the past, but Jean was more anxious now and that was never something you wanted to throw into the mix when it came to not saying embarrassing things. God really must be real for Jean to not have completely fucked that up already.

But he was fine, and he'd be fine. The fact that Jean had enough emotional stress and unresolved sexual tension to go through an entire tub of Vaseline and a value pack of 8 toothbrushes, and just happened to be spending Valentine's Day of all days with the target of his feelings, didn't mean a thing.

Really! He'd been in worse situations with Marco that could have fucked things up. Cuddling up with Marco in the winter or fucking in a log cabin somewhere sounded nice but, Marco in a bathing suit and _nothing_ but a bathing suit in the heat of summer all sweaty and attractive? That was something to be anxious about.

Tonight'd be fine, and that's what Jean tried to keep reminding himself. The less he thought about things he shouldn't've been thinking about to begin with, the better the rest of the day would go. It wasn't like he was a completely uncontrollable mess. He was just a little off his game the past week.

Once he actually turned on the street Marco's house was on though, he knew it'd be fine when he was inside and not cold and bored out of his mind. Jean pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent his mom a text so she wouldn't have an excuse to drag him home later, then stopped at the front door of Marco's house and knocked a couple of times. He didn't wait long before turning the doorknob and pushing the door open himself, not wanting to stand around in the cold longer than he had to.

"Hel,--" Jean practically froze, taken aback by the smell. It was brownies? Maybe? His mother had made enough brownies for him to know what brownies usually smelled like but this was sort of intense. "Hello?" Jean asked, confused at the silence. If there were fresh brownies out of the oven he would've figured someone'd be downstairs, eating them or something. If no one else was going to eat them then Jean certainly would! Hot brownies and vanilla ice cream was never a bad choice.

"Jean?" He heard Marco ask from upstairs. " _No_ , just a burglar." Seriously who else would he be? Did his voice still sound off? Jean didn't think it did, but he didn't get any response, so he took his shoes off near the front of the door and wandered into the kitchen. 

One brownie... Jean could have one brownie and he'd be fine! It was Valentine's Day after all, chocolate was a part of the whole deal! If he was going to have any chocolate today then what could be better to have than a brownie straight out of the oven?

The second he rounded the corner though he could practically feel all the excitement deflating out of his body. Sitting on the kitchen counter was a Yankee Candle "Chocolate Layer Cake" candle, which looked like it'd been burning all day long. He felt so, so _betrayed_. He huffed and walked over to the counter to stare at the candle and inhale the smell of not-brownies. Who at Yankee Candle HQ thought it was a good idea to make a candle that smelled like baking brownies? If someone wanted their house to smell like brownies then they should _make_ brownies.

"Hey! There you are," Marco said as he stopped at the kitchen doorway. "Yeah hi, what's with the candle?" Jean grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. 

Marco didn't look much happier either, rolling his eyes with a sigh, "My mom lit a bunch of candles because they're 'festive'. There's a rose one in the bathroom. Is that all you can smell...?"

Jean didn't think there was anything festive about making the entire house smell like lies, but at least no one had the craving to eat flowers. "Okay so can I blow this out? I'm literally going to go crazy if this is all we're gonna smell tonight." It wasn't like Marco's house had a nice smell. It smelled like, well, Marco's house. But it was like he was getting taunted for trying to cut back on chocolate.

"No, my mom said she wants the house to smell nice later. I don't know when my parents are coming home so I wouldn't even know when to re-light the candles. I would swap it with the rose one but then the bathroom'd smell weird with the Air Wick that's in there...." Marco explained, disappointment clear in his voice. It sounded like he'd already tried to reject the candles, but didn't get his way.

It was disappointing for Jean to hear that Marco's parents wouldn't be home. He totally could have worn his sexy jeans! "Where're your parents? I thought they'd be like, supervising you. So you don't sneak out of the house to go on a date or something." From what Jean could tell, Marco's parents were like, vultures, waiting for their only son to bring home a girl some day.

At this point Marco was probably worrying them, considering Ymir was apparently uncontrollable in terms of going out all the time when she was in high school. Which didn't seem very realistic considering how Jean couldn't see anyone as abrasive and rude as Ymir having lots of friends or dates. Because well, Jean didn't have a ton of friends and his personality was fucking _great_ , alright?

Marco looked uncomfortable as he shrugged and walked towards the fridge, "It's Valentine's Day, I don't _want_ to know where they are or what they're doing." 

Oh. _Oh._ Well that's just great, Jean definitely wanted to picture Marco's parents fucking, that's exactly how he wanted to spend his Valentine's Day. "Uhm. Okay, so then Ymir's here?" Someone had to be supervising the wild, sex crazed teenage boys, right?

"Nope, she's going to the movies with her girlfriend." Marco responded, pulling a couple cans of soda out from the fridge. 

Jean still didn't believe that Ymir's mystery manic pixie dream goddess of a girlfriend existed, but payback was payback. "Uh huh... the movies. Sounds more like you're stuck here with me and everyone else in your house is out gettin' busy." 

Marco froze, startled, and hes sounded like he choked as he dropped one of the cans, clutching the other one to his chest closely and glaring at Jean, his face red.

Jean refused to make eye contact and just looked down at the can rock back and forth on the floor gently. He heard the other can being set down on the kitchen island, then saw Marco bend down to pick the other one up. "You're fucking ridiculous...." Marco muttered as he stood up, and he tried to set the other can down too, but it was dented and it just couldn't stand up on right. He put it up-side-down to make it stay, crossing his arms and giving Jean the stare again. "I'm... never getting those images out of my head. Thanks."

"Yeah, well neither am I! You brought it up! That's what people _do_ on Valentine's Day anyway, they have _sex_." Jean retorted, shrugging innocently. Marco only scoffed, clearing disgusted, "Ugh! Stop it, right now! Not everyone-- Y'know what just don't, _don't_." He sounded disgusted as he fumbled with the tab on the un-dented soda can.

Anything other than an apology was probably going to make things worse, but when did Jean ever learn to shut up? "I'm surprised you're _not_ out on a hot date--" Marco clearly didn't want to hear Jean finish that sentence. "Oh god, shut up, you don't have a 'hot date' either, do you!?" 

Jean licked his lips and scratched behind his ear, a sheepish, small smile on his face that he was trying to hide. "Nnnope. It's just us...." He had the sense not to even jokingly flirt with Marco.

"Yeah, lucky you! You could be sitting at home doing nothing right now." Marco said, ending the conversation as he started to walked back to the living room. He'd said it as if he wouldn't also be alone, doing nothing, if it weren't for their plans. "But I'm like, probably right." Jean mumbled, needing to get the last word in. He heard Marco breathe out through his nose as he walked past, but he didn't say anything.

There really wasn't anything else to say about it anyway. Sex was definitely grosser to Marco in general than to Jean, but _adults_ having sex? _Parents_ having sex!? Horrible. Marco's parents had sex at least, _twice_ , and that was disgusting enough to think about. Imagining adults having _even more sex_ long after their children were grown up was just, despicable!

Weren't parents supposed to like, power down that shit once they became parents, or something? That's what Jean thought anyway! Or maybe that was a Catholic thing he'd been repeatedly told in childhood and it just became a subconscious "fact". Who knows?

He'd heard enough horror stories from kids with two parents about how they'd hear "things" from their parents' rooms at night. Nightmare fuel right there. Jean was glad his mom never got back into dating, or re-married for that matter. Tax benefits be damned, he wasn't interested in hearing _anything_ down the hall.

But hey, if Marco was going to try washing the mental images from his mind then there was no point in Jean lingering on them either, right? He went to get the mangled can of soda which Jean assumed had been from him, suppressing laughter at how the bottom had been smashed in. "Thanks for the soda!" But of course, Jean got no response. Marco was probably ignoring him, or trying to burn the mental images from his brain. Or both.

Honestly he was surprised the can didn't break open when it hit the floor. Jean didn't know how much pressure it took to break a can open by dropping it, but he _did_ know what happened if someone tried to lift a can's tab with scissors. From the internet, of course. Jean totally wasn't stupid enough to do that. And he didn't panic and cry over something like that either. Nope, not him.

For a moment Jean was going to grab a cup from one of the cabinets, but the smell of the Chocolate Layer Cake candle got to his nose again. "Hey Marco...?" Jean called out, but again, got no answer. "Marco! You're in the living room, okay I know you can hear me, can I make brownies?" He needed them, alright? He _needed_ brownies. He wasn't going to make it through 20 minutes of anything with chocolate lies in the air.

Jean pulled a box of brownie mix down from one of the cabinets and started reading the back of the box for ingredients and directions, waiting for Marco to say something. It wasn't like he needed Marco's permission to make food. Marco's family always kept a well-stocked kitchen, the weirdos.

Didn't they know they were supposed to exhaust all their resources until there was nothing left in the house but pasta sides, canned vegetables nobody wants or even remembers buying, and leftovers that again _nobody wants_?

"Hey," Jean shouted louder, turning his head to the side just so his voice would carry better. "Are you saving these--" He was shouting unnecessarily loud to get Marco's attention, and it worked. "What!? Just, stop yelling like that Jean jesus christ! Yes you can make brownies." Jean chewed on his lips, excited for the brownies that were only 34 to 37 minutes away at 325 in the oven. In Celsius, that'd be, _really really hot_. Hot enough to bake brownies for 34 to 37 minutes.

Unfortunately Jean remembered that, while Marco's family did their fair share of baking, they weren't exactly baking shit 3 times a week every week. So, they didn't have the cooking spray with flour in it. The heathens. They had no idea how much time they were losing by using regular cooking spray! Oh well, Jean just wanted some ooey gooey hot brownies to shove down his throat, they didn't have to look pretty coming out of the pan.

He remembered when he was younger he'd pick pieces off the top of brownies while they were still warm in the pan despite his mom telling him not to, then to cover up the crime he'd flip the whole pan over on a plate. No one ever knew why the brownies suddenly became aesthetically pleasing, until his mom caught him in the act one day and he was grounded. No more brownie pickings for him. Now Jean just made his own damn brownies and hoarded them all to himself.

Jean knew that even if Marco's family wasn't in the business of convenience, they at least had a hand mixer. The problem was he couldn't find the beaters, just the mixer itself. "Marco? Where're the whisk things for the mixer?" Too bad the kitchen wasn't perfectly organized 24/7, but Marco's family was just about as loosely organized as anyone else Jean knew. Things went in a general area but someone always had to put things in the wrong place every now and then. "They're dirty." Marco called back, much to Jean's disappointment.

"Okay... can you wash them?" Jean asked hopefully, but he knew deep down that Marco wasn't going to do it. Just because Marco was disciplined and raised to eat kale and shit didn't mean he liked washing dishes. "What? No, you do it! You're the one who wants brownies." Why did Marco have to be so stubborn? "Don't you want brownies?" Silence.

Jean peered into the sink and his face twisted in disgust when he saw the two beaters sitting in a bowl of greasy water and food bits. He definitely wasn't putting his hands in there. "Please?" Jean whined, really stressing the desperation in his voice. 

"Uh-uh, I'm not doing dishes. Just use a spoon or something! It's not that hard." Oh, Jean wanted to storm in there and slap him. Yeah, Jean _knew_ it wasn't that hard to hand-mix brownies! But he didn't want to, that was the problem.

Not wanting to give Marco the satisfaction of winning, Jean just kept quiet and started to put all the ingredients into a mixing bowl. Whoever said Jean wouldn't go out of his way for what he loved was a liar. No one was saying that, but in case anyone ever did, this was proof they're wrong.

It was so weird smelling brownies while making brownies but before putting them in the oven. Jean knew why it smelled like brownies but something about his brain just kept thinking it was crazy. Like, when he swears someone's checking him out but his brain has to keep reminding him that it's never happened so it's not likely.

Normally people think someone like Jean would be bitter and jealous of Marco's family and their life-style that they could live for having so much more money, but it never really bugged Jean. What did bother him though, was looking in their fridge. Vegetables, fruits, the occasional organic crap here or there, it practically dominated 80% of their fridge space. Which was saying a lot, since they had one of those fancy, gigantic "I'm so rich I can afford this big ass fridge" fridges. Who needs so many fruits and vegetables? Like just take vitamins and cut back on the fast food and that was all anyone needed, yeah?

He grabbed 2 grain free organic happy chicken made eggs, or whatever the hell the package said to scam people into paying an extra 2 bucks for the exact same eggs the store brand sells, and set them down on the counter next to the bowl. He turned the kitchen sink on and bumped it to the side so it'd get warm. Jean hated raw eggs, the way they felt on his fingers anyway. So slimy and cold, and if the yolk breaks? Ugh. Jean hated even thinking about it.

Jean, much to his sadness, couldn't crack 2 eggs at once, or even 1 egg with 1 hand. He'd tried before and it ended exactly as anyone would expect that to go. Channels like the Food Network always made him feel inferior for that, but then again all the chefs on T.V. also said to crack eggs in separate bowls to "check if the eggs are bad first". Pfftsh! If anyone let their eggs go rotten then they _deserved_ to start their damn custard over. 

After cracking the first egg into the bowl, and picking up the next one, Jean went to rinse his fingers of the egg whites. The water, however, had been hotter than he expected and like anyone else who felt like their fingers were on fire, he jerked his arms backwards and away from the water. It didn't hurt _that_ much, it was really just a dumb shock thing, but he dropped the fucking egg. "Awwhh _fuck_ me...." He hissed under his breath, looking down to see the damage.

"Marco, I kind of really need help!" Jean called, frozen still. It was so gross. It was disgusting god it was awful he just wanted to crawl right out of his clothes and retreat to a hot shower. The egg broke on the counter but no, no it had to fall off the coutner and get all over Jean's pants and then on one of his socks. It was soaking _through_ his sock! It was cold, and his toes were cold, and he didn't want to feel the slime get in between his toes, he'd be scrubbing them for weeks.

Okay it might have been a bit of an over reaction but it wasn't like Jean was in a position to move, he'd just get more egg everywhere. Marco must've either understood the urgency in Jean's voice, or he was just tired of the shouting back and forth, because he didn't wait very long before walking into the kitchen. One look at Jean, and then the floor, was enough for Marco to understand what happened. He didn't even look surprised. Jean pouted as he turned to look at him, "Help." He demanded pathetically.

Marco sighed and grabbed the roll of paper towels off the kitchen island, tearing a few sheets off, "Aren't you supposed to be _good_ at making brownies?" If Jean weren't grossed out by the egg sitting on his foot he might actually be a little offended. "Just get it off!" Marco bent down and gently wiped most of the egg off of Jean's sock, "'Kay, you're good." When Jean heard that he nearly kicked Marco as he lifted his leg, and he peeled his sock off as fast as he could.

Jean turned around and walked over to grab more paper towels, but he had nowhere to put his sock. He wasn't very happy about his pants having egg on it either, even if it was a lot less. Maybe it was a good thing he didn't wear his good jeans. 

Not thinking about anything other than getting the egg off and away from him, Jean turned around and blurted out, "Can I borrow your pants?" That, may not have been the right choice of words, considering Marco froze for a second, bewilderment on his face. But so what? He knew what he meant!

"Yes you can _borrow my pants_." Marco mocked, suppressing laughter. Jean huffed and quickly left the room, holding his free hand under his sock so no egg would get on the carpet. Cleaning up the kitchen would be easy, but he didn't want to have to explain to Marco's parents as to why there was a gross egg trail on the carpet. 

He really wished Marco's family would get another cat so that messes could be blamed on it sometimes. Mess on the carpet? Cat did it. Drink spilled on the counter? Cat! Missing or broken knick knacks? The cat, obviously!

Jean stopped in front of the washer when he got upstairs, popping it open and tossing his sock in it. Confident that Marco had no reason to come upstairs, Jean took his phone and keychain out of his pockets, stripped his pants off, and threw them in too. He had no idea how or when they were gonna get washed, but he wasn't going to go collecting the dirty laundry of the house just to be able to wash a full load or anything. Marco could take care of that for him.

It felt weird to walk into Marco's room without pants on, planning to get into a pair of Marco's own pants, but he pushed the feeling aside so he could get to digging through Marco's dresser. Hm. That _also_ felt weird. Jean pulled open Marco's pants drawer and started digging through all the perfectly folded clothes, not caring that he was completely ruining any sense of order that was there. Marco would probably get all huffy and upset with him about it when he found out, but whatever.

After grabbing the comfiest looking sweat pants that looked like they would fit, Jean plopped down on Marco's bed to put them on. It was hard to appreciate the softeness of anyone's bed with pants on, and damn, Jean wished he could just slide under the covers right then and there. His legs were freshly de-haired and smooth, it was the perfect time to get all tangled in a warm, comfy, silky soft bed.

Marco's blankets and sheets were just too damn soft, Jean couldn't see how Marco had resisted going to bed without pants on for most of the year. It was a bed fit for fucking, that's for sure. At least in Jean's mind it was. Memory foam was probably better to have sex on than a spring mattress, right? Jean had no idea, but he at least knew that Marco's bed was perfect for sleeping in.

Jean pulled the pants on and went back downstairs before he got any ideas about taking a nap, but he regretted not stealing a pair of socks from Marco's room too. Walking around with 1 sock just didn't feel right, so he took it off and shoved it in one of his shoes by the door, so he wouldn't lose it or something. Not that it mattered, since he was probably never going to see the other sock again anyway.

When he got back into the kitchen he saw that Marco was sitting at the kitchen island, looking at his phone nonchalantly. Jean looked around and noticed that all the mess had been cleaned up, thankfully. Jean didn't really wanna clean, he was already pushing his limits _hand mixing_ the brownies. He also noticed the bowl was on the island now, instead of the counter. He didn't think anything of it until he looked into the bowl.

"What? What is this?" Jean asked, offended. Marco glanced up from his phone, his eyebrow raised slightly in confusion. "I put the eggs in for you so you wouldn't make another mess?" Oh! Oh is that all? Well then good for him! "Marco, why are there _three_ eggs in here? There's only supposed to be two!" Did he even read the box? Or make brownies before ever in his life? Jean could slap him.

Marco looked even more bewildered, "I? You're supposed to put three in, I read the box!" Jean scoffed at that, turning around and snatching the box off the counter, "Three eggs for _cake-like_ brownies, yeah!" He turned back around and slid the box across the island. Marco breathed out his nose and looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, "Oh my god, it doesn't matter...."

Jean sucked on his teeth and begrudgingly grabbed a mixing spoon. "If I wanted cake I'd make a cake, I wanted brownies." He grumbled under his breath, his brows furrowed. 

"It tastes _the same_!" Marco said, but Jean just took the box back and looked at the back of it. "Hmph." It definitely did not taste the same, but clearly, Marco didn't understand that. 

"You know I like fudgy brownies...." Jean pouted quietly, beginning to stir the mix. Why did brownie mixes give a number amount of "strokes"? Couldn't they just say "mix until well blended" like cake mixes did? The whole number of strokes thing made Jean feel pressured to perfectly mix brownies in the amount of stirs the boxes said were necessary.

"Oh, come on! I didn't see the other directions!" Marco defended himself yet again, setting his phone down. Jean just shrugged and went to go grab the pan, "Okay." If he'd seen another box of brownie mix in the cabinet, he might even start over just to get what he wanted, because Jean was just that petty. At least he was getting brownies, even if they weren't going to be perfect. Well, as perfect as box mixes could be.

Marco went back to looking at his phone once Jean started to pour the batter into the pan, "You could've taken the egg out...." Jean snorted when he heard Marco say that. It was fairly easy to get egg yolks out of bowls if they weren't already broken, but egg whites? And when they were already sitting in oil and brownie mix? Yeah no, it wasn't gonna happen. "You try that next time then, because I'm not touchin' eggs if I don't have to."

There were different kinds of substitutes for eggs, like bananas and applesauce, but Jean didn't like the idea of weird flavors in his brownies, so he always went for eggs despite how grossed out he was by them. He just might have to start doing that though with Marco around.

Jean still had to wait for the oven to finish pre-heating, so he grabbed a cup like he'd been planning to earlier and poured the can of soda into it. He sat across from Marco silently, resisting his first instinct to check his own phone. Aside from his mother having probably texted him back, there wasn't much else entertainment that he could get to on his phone. People talking about how they're either going on dates, complaining they don't have dates, or mocking people regardless of what they were doing for Valentine's Day. Jean didn't want to see any of it.

Soda always seemed to go flatter when it wasn't in a can, so Jean picked up his cup and started to take sips. It was a good thing only chocolate and dairy were supposedly bad for acne, because Jean probably wouldn't be able to survive without the caffeine. Sure there were things like, drinking coffee, and going to sleep at a decent time, but it was so much more convenient to _not_ do those things.

Marco glanced up from his phone for a second, " _Sorry_?" Jean thought about it for a moment and sighed, looking at the square pan sitting next to his cup, "I know." The oven beeped, indicating it was hot and ready to bake some brownies. Jean stood up and grabbed the pan, "I shouldn't be having brownies anyway." It was a little mistake, blah blah whatever, forgiveness and all that jazz. Jean wasn't going to be a grumpy bitch about it all night. Once he had the brownies in his mouth there'd be no reason to complain anyway. Brownies were brownies, even if they weren't perfectly fudgy.

He pulled open the oven door and pushed the brownies in, gently poking the sides so it'd be perfectly centered. It didn't really matter, but it was just a habit Jean had from owning such an unevenly heated oven for so long. One inch to the side and bam! Half a tray of cupcakes are burned and the other half are still raw in the middle. A bit of an exaggeration, but worse things could happen in an oven.

Jean set the oven timer and, as another habit of his, was closing the oven door from behind with his foot. It was stupid and dangerous. One of these days his peripheral vision was going to fail him, and it was also really gross an unsanitary, but Jean didn't care about any of those things. He looked at the mixing bowl on the island and picked up the mixing spoon, "Do you wanna lick the spoon?"

Marco looked up, taking a quick glance between the spoon and the bowl. "Um, no? I want the bowl." Of course he wanted the damn bowl, the gluttonous greedy asshole. 

"No," Jean said sternly, "You ruined the brownies, I get the bowl." Marco was lucky! If Jean had cleaned the beaters then all Marco would get for mixer-lickings was maybe, a half teaspoon of batter off of those things. Spoons held so much more batter.

"You got eggs all over the kitchen, _you_ get the spoon." Marco countered, setting his phone down and staring at Jean expectantly. Jean just smiled and leaned over, setting the spoon down so that the handle was mostly on the counter top but without the actual spoon part getting it dirty. He turned around to grab a spoon from the silverware drawer, but turned back around when he heard the drag of plastic. Marco apparently decided he deserved the spoon _and_ the bowl.

Jean quickly got a spoon and went to get his bowl back, "You can't have _both_ that's not fair! You've got a whole bag of candy and shit from yesterday!" Marco leaned away from Jean, the bowl securely in both of his hands, "So? You said you shouldn't even be eating brownies!" Marco slid out of his chair and grabbed the spoon, sticking it in his mouth with a smug look on his face. He looked so stupid with the giant spoon handle sticking out of his mouth, luckily for Jean he was upset about the leftover brownie batter being stolen, otherwise he might've thought Marco looked cute.

Again Jean huffed and stomped over to get the bowl, but Marco wouldn't let go. " _Stohp_ , you're gonna makeme drop it on the carpet!" Marco whined, his words slightly muffled what with there being a giant wooden spoon in his mouth.

"Yeah okay, _mom_ , give it to me and there won't be a mess!" Jean ended up getting his fingers on the inside of the bowl and yanking it free, but his fingers slipped on the brownie batter and it fell to the floor.

The bowl only teetered around on its bottom before stopping, and Jean triumphantly bent down and snatched it off the floor, retreating to the other side of the room. He started licking the brownie batter off his fingers one at a time, and he was happy to see the somewhat dazed look on Marco's face while he did it. "Have fun," Jean said between licks, "With your, _spoon_." At that, Jean started to eat the rest of what was in the bowl with his own regular sized spoon.

"I'm... gonna set up Netflix." Marco said, pulling the mixing spoon out of his mouth and setting it down on the counter before turning and leaving the kitchen. Jean hummed in satisfaction of the outcome and decided to finish the bowl before joining Marco in the living room. Jean was, truly, about as oblivious to some things as everyone rightfully thought he was.

When he was finished scraping the bowl he put it in the sink, ignoring the mixing spoon at the other end of the counter and heading into the living room. Criminal Minds may have seemed like an odd thing to watch on Valentine's Day, even just as a friendly thing, but what better to distract from the loneliness on such a fantastic but bullshit holiday than depressing, brutal, crazy murder?

Jean sat down on the couch and was surprised to see Marco move from the T.V. stand, completely pass by and head up stairs. Weird. He couldn't be upset about the bowl, right? Jean decided not to worry about it, if anything upset Marco he'd either say something about it or it at least wouldn't be something to hold a grudge about. Being stubborn and touchy was Jean's job.

When Marco returned downstairs Jean let any worry disappear. Marco was carrying the bag that all the candy he bought yesterday was in. Chips and brownies apparently aren't enough junk food for a marathon? If only Jean had brought his marshmallows! Then again if he had, Marco probably would've stolen one for himself.

Luckily, when Marco slowly dumped the bag out onto the floor, Jean spotted one of the Dove bags from when they'd gone to Walgreens. Now that, that was both a saving grace and a disappointment. How was Jean supposed to have a face as smooth and clean as a potato bun if he kept eating more and more chocolate!?

With how much chocolate Marco ate Jean was starting to think that maybe Marco's skin really was flawless, and the only thing standing between him and an Abercrombie & Fitch modeling contract was his sweet tooth for chocolate. Man oh man the amount of overpriced white trash clothes he'd buy if it meant he'd get tons of free bags with Marco's shirtless body printed on them....

Different topic, different topic, Jean couldn't think about things like that right now. "I should've brought my marhsmallows." Jean mumbled, echoing his previous thoughts as he stared at the pile of candy to distract himself. Marco made a disappointed kind of whining sound, "Awwh no, I didn't even think of that! You forgot to give me one yesterday." Uh-huh, sure, "forgot". That's totally what Jean did.

Marco sat down next to Jean on the couch after plucking the bag of dark chocolate pretzel bark from the pile, and fiddled with the PS4 controller with his free hand to scroll through all the shows. Netflix' sorting system sucked so bad, Jean didn't see how they could possibly list _everything_ in the weirdly specific but limited categories. Especially considering the amount of times something would show up 5 times in a bunch of different lists, God, it was a nightmare.

"Just text search it." Jean sighed after a few minutes of watching Marco scroll through the crime drama related sections. Marco huffed through his nose, his eyebrows scrunching up a little in a way that Jean would have thought was pretty cute had he been paying more attention. Marco set down his piece of chocolate bark so he could more easily type into the search screen, but it didn't take more than a few letters before Netflix knew what they were looking for and brought it up in the results.

"Mmm, what season do you wanna start on? 10?" Marco asked, scrolling up and down through the list of seasons. Jean shook his head, "That one was fucked up." Marco breathed out his nose, maybe he thought Jean was being funny? Who knows? 

Jean had trouble remembering the older seasons, or which ones he didn't particularly like. He knew which specific episodes he didn't like, but that was about it. "Uh, how about 6?"

"I _hated_ season 6." Marco sighed exasperatedly. That's when Jean remembered that apparently Marco had seen season 6 episodes rerun so much that he remembered too many of them too well. Crime shoes lose their shock value if you've seen them enough times. What a bummer, too, Jean actually kinda liked season 6. Or at least he liked what he could remember of it. Or was he thinking of season 5? "Uhhh... okay, 8?"

Marco sighed again, but quieter and less annoyed, "8 made me sad." _Ugh_. This was getting ridiculous. 

"Oh- _kayy_ , let's just start from the beginning!" Season 1 was alright, right? What could be wrong with it? Nothing, it was the original and it got the ball rolling for another shit ton of seasons. "Oh," Marco started, "The acting in season 1 was just _awful_...." Jean turned his head towards Marco, his eyes narrowed in confusion and annoyance.

Then he saw the look on Marco's face and realized Marco was just screwing around. What an asshole. Jean rolled his eyes and groaned, stretching his legs out to kick Marco's thighs, "Just play the fuckin' thing already." 

He heard Marco laugh, or maybe it was a snicker, whichever one validated Jean's frustration more. "Oh yeah _tee hee_ you're so cute. Asshole." Jean had said it in a pretty lighthearted manner, but he hadn't meant for Marco to openly laugh even more.

"Did you just... say 'tee hee'...? _Tee hee_?" Marco snorted, acting like what Jean had said was funnier than it actually was. "What? Tee hee! Y'know like, chuckling? Laughter? Snickering like an asshole? Like you're doing right now?" Was there some new slang or obscure internet meme he was forgetting?

Marco only snorted more and looked away, leaning on his right hand and pressing play on the controlled. "Nah, nothing. Nothin'!" 

Now Jean needed to know. "No, what? What's so funny about tee hee!?" Jean felt kind of embarrassed the longer he had to sit there and look at Marco's stupid little smirk. But even after some flustered and determined staring, Marco didn't say a word and just kept his eyes on the T.V., so Jean gave up on it and decided to just pay attention to the show. He'd google it later or something.

There was nothing to hear but the show, and the occasional sound of pretzels being crushed for a while. And of course, just when Jean was starting to get invested in the episode though, Marco whispered, "Tee, hee." It was so quiet, but not quiet enough for Jean not to hear it. 

Jean pulled his leg back and kicked Marco again, "Stop it!" He was upset and flustered for no good reason, but he wouldn't be if Marco wasn't acting like a 7 year old saying the word "ass" for the first time.

"No one says 'tee hee'!" Marco finally explained, although for something so simple Jean still didn't understand why it was so funny. "A-and? No one... no one, uhg...." Jean could think of a handful of comebacks, none of which were acceptable.

No one keeps their secret love letters in the same hidden place as their lube! No one deep throats frozen bananas so deeply and passionately! No one shoves _easy breakables_ up their ass! No one writes self-insert Harvest Moon fanfiction for a 6th grade writing project! No one does a lot of things that Marco has definitely done either, but Jean didn't want another argument, _or_ a reason for Marco to dig up all of Jean's weird dirt. Namely, the banana thing.

"I know, but..." Marco continued, looking back at the screen, "The way you say it, it's so, so _fitting_." What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Fitting? Fitting how? Was that supposed to be a stab at how Jean was still going through puberty and his voice cracked sometimes, very rarely, or something!? "What, a-are you saying I sound like a 9 year old? What?" Jean fumbled over his words, pulling his legs back towards his side of the couch as he tried to hide his embarrassment.

Marco sucked in his lips for a moment before bringing his left hand up to his face, hiding his mouth. "I dunno it's just, a very _you_ thing. It's stupid but it sounds right coming from you." Jean honestly couldn't tell if Marco was being sarcastic or not. So, he just stared, dumbfounded and ultimately confused. Should he be offended? Flattered? He had no idea.

Just then the oven dinged, slightly startling Jean and pulling him out of his thoughts. Brownies, _finally_! Retreating from the confusing situation, Jean might as well have launched himself off the couch, then ran into the kitchen. He grabbed a couple of pot holders and pulled open the oven, closing his eyes for a moment to let the rush of hot air out without it assaulting him.

Years of watching his family bake crap had almost completely voided the need to do the stupidly dangerous toothpick test every box mix suggested people do. All Jean had to do was look at them, and he was positive they were done. Even if they weren't perfectly done, slightly under baked brownies were never a bad thing. He pulled the pan out of the oven eagerly, using his foot and then his knee to lift and close the oven.

"Marco! You've got vanilla ice cream, right!?" He could start his road to smooth skin, tomorrow. Probably what every addict and procrastinator in history told themselves, but, who cares, right!? Well, Jean for one, will probably regret the choice later when he breaks out more and feels he has to blame it on something, namely brownie a la mode. But he didn't have to worry about that in the moment.

Jean grabbed a butter knife from the silverware drawer and started to cut out rough lines in the piping hot brownies, and not long after that Marco walked into the kitchen. "Uh-huh, I think...." Jean was too busy trying not to burn himself as he cut through the brownies to even look Marco's way. Probably a good thing for everyone involved.

God, Jean was so excited. Yeah the brownies were "ruined" and they weren't cooperating with coming out of the pan, but he'd been craving hot brownies since the moment he walked into the house and that Yankee Candle red herring deceived his already lacking nose. Anyone would be smiling like an over excited 10 year old at dessert time, right? No? Was it weird for him to be so happy and excited? Too bad.

Once Jean had gotten some form of a square to lift from the pan, he tried to grab it but quickly pulled his hand away when it burnt his fingers. He turned to look at Marco and did a double take, his sparkly smile melting into a frown, "Get the ice cream! And some bowls." He ordered, turning back to his brownie square without paying any mind to how Marco seemed to have completely checked out of the conversation for a good minute there.

The second a couple of bowls were placed next to him on the counter, Jean flung a brownie into the first bowl as fast as possible. He definitely didn't want to be holding a hot brownie for longer than he had to. 

Marco took the bowl with the brownie in it and scooped some ice cream into it, "We've got Neapolitan, but that's it. D'you want all three or just vanilla?" 

Decisions, decisions. Jean kinda liked the classic hot chocolate/cold vanilla thing, and chocolate on chocolate just seemed like overkill. "Hm. Strawberry." He answered, deciding to go wild today. As wild as strawberry ice cream could be considered, anyway.

"Ew, but okay!" Marco said as he started to collect said flavor of ice cream from the rest. Jean put another brownie piece in the empty bowl and looked into the tub of ice cream. "Y'know what I never understood? Neapolitan ice cream where it's all just, mixed in together? Like it's not separated by the sections it's just all over the place? It bugs me."

Marco topped Jean's bowl off with the strawberry ice cream and closed the tub up, "It's pretty disgusting." He agreed, placing the spoon he'd used into Jean's bowl. While he was going to put the ice cream back, Jean got another spoon out for Marco, took both bowls, and headed back into the living room. There was some rule about not eating messy things in the living room, because of how easily things could spill and make a mess, but Jean had no socks on and the kitchen tiles were just too damn cold. _Anarchy_.

Jean was tempted to dig right in, but he wasn't a complete idiot. He knew if he tried biting into it right now he was just going to burn his tongue. Inevitably, Jean was going to burn his tongue anyway like he always did when it came to hot brownies and cold ice cream together, but if he waited it would at least be a less severe burn. It was torture watching the ice cream melt though, maybe they should have waited a bit to put the ice cream on? Why didn't Marco wait? He was usually the one to point things like that out.

By the time Marco got back, Jean couldn't take it any longer, and he went for a tiny piece of brownie with some ice cream and shoved it in his mouth. Marco glanced at him before un-pausing, "Is it good?" Jean winced in pain, both from the hot brownie and the shock of the cold from the ice cream. But he gave a thumbs up anyway. "Even though I ruined the brownies?" Marco asked smugly, much to Jean's annoyance. "I hope you choke on your _cake-like_ brownie."

Marco's eyes widened like he had an epiphany or something, "Y'know after so many seasons with so many _weird_ killing methods, I don't think they've ever had someone who made people eat to death. Or drink to death, I think that's probably easier to pull off." _Well then_. The pinnacle of Marco's beautiful mind of work.

"Probably because that'd be really inconvenient? And weird? Also I think those two things are like, really popular kinks so I don't think they'd wanna show that?" Jean honestly wasn't sure how the writers picked what kinds of fucked up ways the murderers would choose to do their thing.

"What are you talking about? Half the creepy stuff they end up showing has gotta be kinky to a bunch of weirdos. There's enough bondage in half the episodes to get some people excited, I bet." Marco said it normally, but just the word _bondage_ made Jean think about how he was very slightly, kinda, a little bit into it.

Jean stayed silent, eating more of his brownie a la mode to avoid anymore talking for the time being. He tried not to think about what kind of kinks Marco had, because everyone had to have at least one. Even Jean had his thing for choking, which from what he understood, wasn't supposed to be something people did because it could be potentially dangerous. Although, Jean put a vibrating toothbrush up his ass, so there had to be other people out there who didn't mind a little danger!

Wrong thought train, completely, entirely, disastrously wrong. Jean was so out of focus for a bit that he didn't notice how big of a piece of hot brownie he'd put to his mouth. The large amount of heat startled him and he gasped, spitting the entire mouthful out into his bowl and whining in pain.

Marco smirked, "Oh who's the one choking on the brownies?" Jean's face went red for a few reasons, but the one he was more concerned with was the one that made him wanna reach over and flick Marco in the eye. "Go suck a dick." Jean spat back, although he immediately regretted saying it. It was such a lame comeback, it was a low level, 12 year old's comeback. Marco just shrugged and shifted his focus back to the show, "I thought that was your thing?"

Jean snorted and laughed, having to set his bowl down so he wouldn't drop it. Thank God he hadn't taken a spoonful before Marco spoke, otherwise he probably would have accidentally swallowed it and the spoon whole. Then he'd really be choking. Just, the way Marco _said that_ like he was talking about doing the laundry or something, Jean just wasn't expecting it at all. Maybe he shouldn't've told Marco he was bi, or maybe telling him was the best decision he'd made so far this year.

All Marco did was watch silently as Jean had his little giggle fit, but he didn't stay quiet at the first sign of Jean calming down. "...You're doing a lot of _tee hee_ -ing." Jean gasped for air and descended into the quiet but desperate kind of laughter, snorting in between occasionally, before sliding down in his spot on the couch and kicking Marco's thigh, " _Stop_! You're s-such a fucking _asshole_!"

He hated the way Marco looked at him with that damn smile on his face, mocking him for having such ugly laughter. Jean gave a couple more kicks just to try and get Marco to stop looking at him like that, and for whatever reason Marco just sort of stared the rest of the while Jean was trying to calm the hell down.

And when Jean was finally done, out of breath and red in the face, he felt kind of dumb. No, embarrassed. He was laid out all over the couch after all, one arm over the arm rest, the other clutching the back cushion, one of his legs in Marco's lap and the other on the floor dangerously close to one of the bowls of ice cream....

It took a while of silent staring before Marco looked onto the floor, "You kicked my pretzel bark on the floor." He murmured, causing Jean to sit up straight and pull both his legs back. "My bad." He replied quietly before bending down to pick up his bowl. Marco picked up his bag of pretzel bark and set it next to him where it had been before, not commenting on the fact that Jean's legs had pulverized it past consideration of being "bark".

With the shock and awkwardness gone, Jean took a few glances at Marco. He swallowed the brownie in his mouth and scoffed, shaking his head. " _Tee hee_. You're ridiculous." Marco smiled a little at that, "You see what's funny about it though, right?" Nope. Not a fucking clue. Jean had no idea why it was so funny to him when Marco said it before. Maybe it was just because he hadn't been expecting it, or it was the way Marco said it, or it could've just been that Jean had been in a fit of the giggles and would've found pretty much anything funny at that point.

Marco must've sensed that Jean still didn't get whatever he was saying, sighing with a bit of a pout on his face and looking into his bowl, "It's funny...." _Oh_ , Jean wished he really got what Marco was thinking. Tee hee was, kind of funnyish, maybe? "No, _you're_ funny." Jean corrected, explaining to himself why he probably laughed at the "tee hee-ing". Marco laughed and then sighed, looking back at the T.V., although he did glance back at Jean for a second. "Tee hee's funny because _you're_ funny."

Ohh! It was gonna be like that. An "After you no after you no I insist after _you_ " situation, yeah? They'd get nowhere if they both honestly thought it was only funny because the other _made_ it funny. Whatever, Jean thought it was cute that Marco thought that anyway. The fact Marco thought that "tee hee" was so funny in the first place was cute in and of itself. But then again, what about Marco did Jean _not_ find to be cute in some way?

Marco was a bit of an asshole sometimes, like most people are, but he was adorable! Cute as a button with all those kissable little freckles and his weird sense of humor. But Jean shook all those gross, overly affectionate thoughts from his head and tried to focus on the T.V. show they'd both missed way too much of. Not that it mattered. The first few episodes were good enough to re-watch if they had to.

* * *

They'd gotten through a few episodes and maybe ate a little too much chocolate by 8 o'clock, but is there really such a thing as too much chocolate on Valentine's Day? No. Sure they'd eaten about a third of the brownies, a bunch of ice cream, and plenty of various chocolate candies, but that was all just kind of like, an appetizer. There were more things to eat than _just_ chocolate.

"I want pizza." Marco sighed, pausing the episode and turning to look at Jean. "Is that a good idea? You just went on a _shopping spree_ , okay, I thought you were savin' up money for your birthday?" Jean responded back un-enthusiastically, not very concerned with having cheese on top of all the chocolate and dairy he'd already had. He was still planning to wait until the next day to take his new diet seriously, but grease, cheese, and marinara on top of brownies a la mode and God knows how many Dove chocolates? Did Marco have no sense? No fear?

Marco whined and checked his phone, "Stooop, it's a holiday an' I can do what I want." He was such a whiny brat sometimes, Jean hated it even thought he could relate. Why save up your money when you can just blow it all off on pizza and ice cream? Sort of a childish view on things, but that was exactly the point! Once you turned 18 your life was over, or at least that's what Jean was convinced of. 

He tried his best not to make fun of those things around Marco, since it was such a big deal in his family. Even if Marco was a little in denial about the inevitability of it sometimes, Jean wasn't about to give him a lecture or anything. Marco wouldn't have to play Responsible Adult for a while, and Jean was certain that Marco was already getting enough hints from everyone else around him about it.

"Alright, order pizza then. Oooh, and tell them to make the pizza heart shaped or something. Tell 'em you're trying to impress your girlfriend." Jean said nonchalantly, and although he was kinda of joking, Marco seemed to take him seriously. "I'm not gonna lie! I'll ask though." Ahh, he was so sweet. Such a dork... Jean wanted to slap him.

"Mhm, my hero." Jean muttered sarcastically. "Yeah keep making jokes, I'll tell them to put anchovies on it." Marco snapped back, an equal amount of joking in his voice. Jean scoffed and arched his head backwards over the couch, "You _hate_ anchovies!" Marco dialed a number into his phone and brought it up to his ear, "Uh-huh, we'd be suffering together, so _hush_." Jean loved being an asshole when people were ordering, so he re-positioned himself on the couch to face Marco, "I'm _already_ suffering with you!" He spoke loud enough that anyone on the phone would probably be able to make out bits and pieces.

Marco made a shooing movement with his free hand, "Yes hello I'd like to place an order for delivery?" His voice went from mocking to freakishly pleasant so easily. God it was terrifying, Jean didn't understand how it was possible to do it. "Just _looking at your face_ , it's torture!" Jean shouted, earning a glare over the shoulder from Marco as he tried to retreat into the dining room.

But unfortunately for them both, Jean had the energy to go the extra mile. He got up and quickly followed, stopping at the wall next to the dining room. Jean decided to listen before deciding what to say. "Yes, with olives. Um, can I ask if you could, I dunno, make the pizza, in a _heart shape_ maybe?" Oh god, he really was asking.

Jean rounded the corner and leaned against the wall, and made a very, very exaggerated and loud sigh. "You just don't _listen to me_ anymore!" He whined loudly, a smile spread wide on his face.

Marco shot him another annoyed glare, "I'm sorry! Y-- No, uhm, yes that was my," He took a strange glance at Jean, "Boyfriend! Yes. I'm, I'm trying to do something special. For Valentine's Day! _Yeah!_ " Oh lord, Marco sounded so frantic and stressed when he was coming up with lies off the top of his head, but it probably made him sound more sincere. "Well, y'see," Marco was red in the face, and Jean wished he could hear what was being said on the other end.

"This isn't _working_ anymore!" Jean whined, doing everything he could not to snort or giggle at the look on Marco's face. It read sweet things like "stop", "shut up", and "violence is imminent". When would Marco learn that the more he squirmed, the harder Jean would try to embarrass him? "I can't _believe_ you! You're the _worst_ thing that's eve--" Marco scurried away into the kitchen, "Yes thank you so much goodbye!"

Jean took a deep breath and bit his bottom lip, regret and anxiety creeping in the back of his mind. Marco was probably a little pissed! He waited for Marco to come back through the dining room, but suddenly he felt something hit his back and he yelped, turning around in shock. Marco had gone around through the living room, not the dining room, and elbowed him. "You're an asshole." He said sternly, putting on his disappointed parental figure tone again.

"Yeah?" Was all Jean could ask, unintentionally giving Marco a widespread smirk. Marco huffed and turned away, " _Yeah_ you are,... but they're gonna do the uh, the heart pizza. So...." Marco's face went red and he turned around, heading for the stairs. 

Jean was honestly shocked, "Whoa, really!? What'd they say to you? Hey, hey are you _blushing_? What'd they say? Marco!" Jean tried interrogating, but to no avail. Marco kept going up those stairs without a word.

It hit Jean at that moment what had just happened. Marco called Jean his _boyfriend_ , and god, that probably was awkward. Jean really hadn't thought about it in the moment, he just wanted to embarrass and annoy Marco, that was all. The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. He knew that, whatever it was that was going on in Marco's head, he certainly didn't seem fond of the idea of dating. Maybe he'd put Marco in too awkward of a spot by mistake.

Still, there was no use in overthinking it. Jean didn't need to get any ideas about them actually dating, not when he'd been doing so... _moderately acceptable_ tonight. Not knowing what else to do, however, Jean just kept leaning against the wall, waiting for Marco to come back down. He'd give him a proper apology, or at least as proper as Jean could muster.

Marco came down a while later, blank faced like nothing happened. No surprise there. "You're getting the door." Marco said smugly, placing some cash on the little side table by the front door.

Jean wasn't a fan of social interaction with employees and the like, but if it was for the pizza guy he had no complaints. Maybe some day the most well known porn-joke would finally come true, and he'd meet some really attractive pizza guy, or girl, who was down to fuck him. Not that it was a dream of his, but beggars, choosers, all that nonsense.

"Mmm, I, uhm, s-sorry." Yeah, Jean was bad at apologies. Marco didn't even look over his shoulder as he walked back into the living room, "'S'fine. A heart shaped pizza'll look really nice on snapchat." He had a good point, but Jean couldn't even begin to imagine how uncomfortable Marco must've been. Jean just hadn't been thinking. He really was an asshole. But, if that was how Marco was going to treat things then so be it. Jean wasn't going to fight him over a joke that earned them a fancy pizza.

He joined Marco on the couch, and they resumed watching their show. Jean really didn't like the non-murdery episodes of crime shows. Like sure a good mystery is cool or whatever but if he wanted a cool mystery he'd watch a cool mystery show! He was here for crazy murders, not creepy kidnappers. Now if they were a crazy kidnapper _and_ serial killer, that'd be nice. Although, they were the kind of episodes that were better for eating. Some were just kinda gross or insanely gory.

"What kind've pizza did you order? I wasn't uh, listening." Jean asked sheepishly, unable to look towards Marco. "Cheese, olives, and pepperoni. Medium." Marco answered. Jean shivered a little on the inside. "Pepperoni? Is that... a good idea?" They'd eaten chocolate, brownies, and ice cream already. Sauce and cheese was one thing, but pepperoni? What was Marco thinking?

Marco shrugged, not seeming bothered by it at all, "I like a little spice on pizza." Yeah because pepperoni was so spicy. Pepperoni was like, _diet_ spicy. 

"Well if you start puking I'm not gonna clean it up." That was probably the dumbest thing Jean could've said, not that he realized. He had no idea how much Marco had to clean up after Jean that night a few months ago where Jean gotten so ridiculously drunk he'd thrown up on Marco multiple times. But it didn't matter, because he didn't think of it, and Marco didn't say a word. 

Jean noticed his soda can was empty, and he sighed in disappointment. "Hey, d'you need another soda?" He asked as he got up from the couch. There was only so much soda they could both have in a day without upsetting Marco's parents. If Jean had to hear another speech about how so much soda was bad for them _one more time_ he was gonna lose it. "Juice?" Marco said it like he was unsure, but Jean didn't question it.

When Jean walked into the kitchen he wasn't even entirely sure if he wanted another soda. He'd already had two, but he wasn't really in a juice mood either. Especially since most of the juice that was ever in the fridge was that healthy, overly pulpy stuff that Jean hated. Not to mention said juice was probably only going to make any stomach ache Jean might get later even worse. Something about pears just didn't agree with Jean, and there were so many juices that randomly added pear juice for some reason. No one _likes_ pears, why add them to anything?

Whatever though, he'd just settle for iced tea and hope for the best. Orange juice would've sounded nice if he hadn't eaten so much chocolate, because seriously, _fuck_ all the food snobs who said chocolate and orange was a good flavor combo. It wasn't. 

"Which one do you want?" Jean shouted over his shoulder as he grabbed a couple of cups from the cabinet. "Doesn't matter!" Marco answered back, to Jean's surprise. Maybe he should be a smartass and give him prune juice. Or cranberry juice? Whatever it was that was bitter and disgusting that old people kept trying to claim was healthy.

Jean found the tub of sugar and started to gently pour some into his own cup before pouring his drink. Whether tea was iced or hot, it just didn't have enough sugar for him, alright? Besides it was tea, and tea was healthy! So it balances itself out, right? He pulled open the fridge and grabbed the iced tea, and mercifully, some fruit punch for Marco.

If only Jean had a fridge big enough to hold so much crap. Everyone in his house was always arguing about how many jugs of this or that they could buy because of how much room there was in the fridge. Jean was guilty of dumping out the last cup or so of something from its container just so he could make room in the fridge for his drinks. Terribly wasteful, sure, but if Hitch wanted her sweet precious strawberry lemonade she could invest in a mini fridge like the college student she was supposed to be or stop buying 3 cartons of the shit at a time.

Jean double checked to make sure he wasn't pouring the fruit punch into his sugar cup, even though it would be funny to see the look on Marco's face if he took a sip of so much sugar. For all people talk about how unhealthy soda was, fruit juice had a shit ton of sugar in it by itself. So what if it had vitamin C? That hardly seemed like a good reason for Jean to give up soda for it.

After pouring both the drinks he put the bottles back in the fridge, grabbed the two cups, and went back into the living room. "Fruit punch, to match all the other sweet stuff you've eaten already." He said as he placed Marco's cup on the side table before sitting on the couch again.

Marco frowned as he looked into the cup, "Ugh, you sound like my parents. What's that?" Jean shamefully looked into his cup and shrugged, "Y'know just, sweet iced tea." He answered quietly, ignoring the disgusted gagging noise Marco made after hearing that. Jean had heard enough complaints from Marco about how pointless it was to drink iced tea with as much sugar in it as Jean liked it with, but it wasn't like Jean was the one who got sick all the time from too much sugar. Somehow, Marco always beat him to that.

Jean didn't mind having missed bits and pieces of the current episode, but after a while of boredome and occasionally spacing out he realized just how cold his feet were. He started chewing on his bottom lip when he'd gotten an idea, stretching his legs out to the other side of the couch before shoving his toes underneath Marco's leg.

It didn't take more than a couple of seconds for Marco to get annoyed, lifting his leg and slapping Jean's feet, "What the hell are you doing!?" His face was all scrunched up and grumpy, it was kind of funny. Cute too, actually. 

Jean pulled his legs back a little so Marco would stop assaulting his feet, "My feet are cold!" He explained quickly, sliding his feet closer again. Marco only scoffed, grabbing one of Jean's ankles. Knowing exactly what he'd just gotten himself into, Jean yelped and pulled both his legs straight back over to himself. Feet tickling was real torture.

Marco had a satisfied look in his eyes as he put his leg back down, leaving his left hand near the center of the couch. "Go get some of my socks or something then! And hey did you wash your pants?" Jean protectively held onto his feet with his hands and looked at the T.V. shamefully, "Uhh... no?" 

He heard Marco make a disappointed little gasping noise, and he knew if he'd been in range Marco probably would've slapped his leg or something. "Why not!? It's been like, 3 hours, and you've got eggs sitting in the washer!?"

Worse things had been in that washer, not that it made much of a difference. It was all gonna get cleaned anyway, right? "I don't know how your washer works, man." Jean lied, sucking in the sides of his cheeks to hide the redness spreading across his face. 

"You _liar_. Jeez, fine, I'll do it myself." With that Marco got up, paused the episode, and left. Maybe Jean should tell him to wash his other sock too, since then he probably wouldn't lose either of them? But he decided not to, since Marco would probably just nag him for being lazy.

For a second Jean thought about how nice Marco was for going to do the laundry, but then he figured, Marco was probably so eager to do it so neither of his parents would have to question why exactly there was a single eggy sock and pair of pants in the washer. Even though it had a simple enough explanation, Jean could only imagine what kind of weird off-the-ball shit anyone else would think without knowing any better.

Marco must've been having trouble finding clothes to throw in the washer, because it took him a while to come back downstairs. And only a moment after Jean heard Marco's footsteps behind him, he felt something hit the back of his head. It startled him and he immediately smacked it off of him, " _Ah_ fuck! What...? What the _fuck_ Marco!? What if I was holding my cup?" Jean snapped, turning to glare at his violent assailant. He was embarrassed that a folded blanket had scared him, even if it was just for a second.

"... _You're welcome_." Marco said sarcastically, un-pausing the show and sitting back down on the couch. Then he grabbed the blanket, shaking it out to unfold it, before throwing it over to Jean's side of the couch again. Jean begrudgingly muttered a thank you as he tried to get comfortable again, still pulling his feet towards him to keep them warm and away from Marco's hands.

It just had to be one of the good, soft and big blankets too, didn't it? Whoever bought it probably overpaid for it at a Kohl's or something during a Black Friday sale, but hey, at least they had good taste. If Jean could blow 40 dollars on a single blanket he would, but he had far more important priorities. Like, video games, and candy, and clothes that made him look as far from a lower middle class gay Catholic as possible without writing Satan all over everything he wore or something.

But that was besides the point. Jean wanted to steal a nice blanket for himself, but Marco never brought over the super silky blankets during sleepovers. Maybe he secretly knew what Jean wanted and didn't wanna have to explain why all the nice blankets would mysteriously disappear any time Marco slept over at Jean's house.

Then Jean realized that Marco was taking some of the blanket to cover his own legs with. At first he wanted to tell Marco to go get his own damn blanket, but he didn't want Marco to then steal the entire blanket for himself and just echo back the exact same thing. Jean didn't wanna get up, much less hunt around the house for one of the other nice blankets. So he didn't say a word.

"So," Marco started, "What're we doing next year?" Why'd he have to ask? Jean was never that good at thinking so far ahead. That and considering he'd literally _forgotten_ about their plans this year he probably shouldn't be in charge of making any of the plans.

"Oh, _you_ can sit here all by yourself, I'll have a cute date to hang out with next year." Jean joked with fake confidence in his voice. The truth was that if it was one of those years where he didn't spend the day with Marco, then he spent it alone in his room, on the internet most likely. Watching porn, again, most likely.

It wasn't like Jean didn't have anyone else to spend time with, it was just that Jean didn't want to spend the holiday with anyone but Marco. Unless he was asked out on a date, Jean didn't see much of a point to do anything on Valentine's Day. He didn't want to talk about relationship things with his other friends, primarily because he was in the closet but also because he'd been trying so hard to keep his feelings for Marco a secret for so damn long. 

And maybe, at any other time Marco might keep the joke going, but considering everything they'd talked about in the past week he didn't look like he found it funny. "Hey, I'm fine with being alone." Marco said seriously, though not in a negative way. "And I'm not saying you care too much about getting a date, I know you get lonely only having me to hang out with every year." He was sort of right but also so obliviously wrong.

Jean could be a whiny, needy, pathetic person to be around during Valentine's Day some years, but he got to spend almost every year with the guy he was in love with! How could he feel lonely? Maybe for the rest of the month he was lonely, but on the holiday itself? If he was with Marco, the worst Jean ever felt was a little wistful for being too much of a coward to have confessed his feelings _before_ the holiday came around.

"We don't have to do this next year if you don't want...." Marco finished quietly, almost making the atmosphere kind of awkward. Jean wasn't a firm believer in the "bros before hoes" saying, mainly because in his situation they were one in the same _but_ that's not the point here. Jean still half stood by the idea that Valentine's Day was a flawed, fake, cheap holiday that made people seem more caring for their partners simply because they bought into materialistic tradition that cares more about money, bells and whistles over devotion and real feelings. And....

The _point_ , is that whether Jean was in love with Marco or not, there was still a huge part of him that wouldn't even bother with going out on a legitimate date with someone on Valentine's Day before considering what he could do with his _best friend_. Yeah, Jean was biased since Marco was more to Jean than just a best friend, and his feelings on romance and Valentine's Day were wildly inconsistent considering he was still a hopeless romantic who could appreciate the _idea_ of Valentine's Day....

But _even then_ , there was nothing "inconsistent" about the fact that he'd always prefer to spend Valentine's Day with Marco. Whether as friends or boyfriends. The latter still sounded pretty good though.

Jean wasn't in the mood to be serious or depressing though. He cleared his throat and stayed focused on the T.V., "Uh huh, I see how it is. If you wanna get rid of me for next year just come right out and say it, otherwise I'll just pay someone to go out on a date with me next year instead." He was joking, but the idea was solid. Paying someone who was attractive to pretend _Jean_ was attractive for a few hours? He'd have to consider that when he got a job.

Marco breathed out his nose and pulled more of the blanket over to his side of the couch, "Oh forgive me for being the nice one." He huffed, although Jean knew he wasn't being completely serious. "The 'nice one'? You're a jackass, okay, your freckly dimple face 'n doll-eyes haven't fooled me in forever." 

Marco could probably even be a professional con-man if he could learn to lie more, and do so a bit better. He had a perfect face and a winning smile. Factor in his perfectly delightful laughter, and who wouldn't give up all their money if he asked them nicely for it because his poor mixed corgi/rottie/pomeranian that he'd rescued off the streets in a terrible rainstorm one night on his way back home after a long day of feeding the homeless, had a sprained ankle and the emergency vet was just so, so expensive?

" _Doll eyes_?" Marco asked in disbelief, "That's, that's almost as bad as--" Jean cut him off with his hand raised sternly, his index finger sticking up, " _Don't_ , say it." Marco feigned ignorance, even going as far to fake a little pout. "What? I wasn't going to say anything _bad_." Jean was about to say something threatening, but before he could even open his mouth the door bell rang.

The thought of pizza brought Jean to his feet immediately, and he nearly dragged the blanket with him with how quickly he got up. If Marco hadn't held onto it, it probably would've gone with Jean or even tripped him on his way around the couch.

Jean still felt his nerves rattle, despite being more willing to greet the pizza deliverers. It was still awkward, forced socialization. Then there was the funny business with tipping, and man did Jean hate that. He always tried to tip but some people felt like they deserved more, and either Jean didn't have more or the delivery took too damn long and they didn't _deserve_ more! It was always stressful when the off deliverer gave him the evil eye for his tip, and God forbid they actually say something about it.

Regardless, he didn't hesitate in opening the door. "Hi." Jean said a little too quickly, stiffness in his voice. "Hi." The pizza guy echoed back, but with far less awkwardness and more of that obligatory friendliness in his voice. Jean handed over the cash that he'd picked up from the table where Marco left it, praying that Marco had counted it right, and reached forward to get the pizza box.

Jean braced himself for whatever farewell the guy was gonna give him, knowing that the only response that he could offer would be to nod and slam the door closed. "Have a nice night! Oh and uh, how's the boyfriend? I heard the phone call." Jean shuddered inwardly, not sure how to handle the extra communication. 

He panicked though, and couldn't just not say anything, "...He's perfect." He blurted, his face red, before backing away and pushing the door closed with his foot fast and hard.

That was awful! But it was over and Jean wanted pizza, so he made his way into the kitchen and set the warm box on the kitchen island excitedly. Marco followed him in, phone in hand. He really must've been excited about the heart thing. Jean opened the box, and immediately snorted, turning away and laughing at the sight. It was, kind of heart shaped for sure, really.

But it was so _mangled_ and uneven, the bottom corner smushed up a little too far, making it look more like an ass or a pair of boobs than a traditional heart shape. The way they cut it didn't even make sense either, instead of cutting in the usual "triangles", a few of the pieces looked like someone had misunderstood the order and tried to cut the pizza in heart shapes or something too. The pepperoni and olives were also not spread all around the pizza evenly, instead whoever made it actually put them on in a heart shape like a connect the dots game.

Marco had the saddest pout on his face as he looked down at the pizza, but he raised his phone up and took a few pictures anyway. Jean thought he might take a few pictures too, but not when it looked so ridiculous. They got tons of points for trying, though! Jean would at least give them that. "If this was actually for my boyfriend or something they'd dump me for this." Marco muttered, putting his phone down but not taking his eyes off the pizza.

Jean tried to stifle his laughter, turning to look at Marco, "Awhh, no way! You look so upset anyone'd have to forgive you. ... _Ohh_ my god Marco you look like you're gonna cry!" Marco sighed and looked up, "I thought it'd be cute...." Jean hadn't meant to, but he ended up laughing more. "It, it's _pfftch_ , perfect, alright? It's great!" Jean knew he wasn't doing any good at consoling him, since he was still laughing. Like whoever made the poor pizza, Jean had tried and failed. 

Marco sulked over to the cabinets to grab some paper plates, but seemed to lighten up when he handed Jean a plate, sighing. "I almost wish they'd just said 'no'." Jean took a deep breath and bit down on the inside on his cheek to stop himself from laughing anymore at Marco's disappointment. 

"Well, I'm sure your imaginary boyfriend would appreciate it anyway." Marco pulled a few "slices" of pizza onto his plate, "Well screw him, I wanted a cute pizza!" He joked, taking his plate and leaving.

"You sound so devoted." Jean called after him as he got his own pieces, trying to avoid the ones with the most pepperoni. At the very least, the pizza smelled good. It was sort of mingling with the candle, but it wasn't that bad once he left the kitchen. "Y'know, if it makes you feel any better, the pizza guy wasn't even that cute." Jean tried to say it sympathetically, as if he'd actually hoped that he could hit on a pizza delivery person.

"They never are." Marco stated plainly, clearly understanding that it wasn't a big deal to either of them anyway. Jean shrugged it off as he sat down and pulled the blanket over his legs with his free hand, "Maybe next time, I mean who knows? Maybe my first 'hot date' will be with a pizza guy." He hoped it didn't sound like a sex joke or anything to Marco, because that definitely wasn't what Jean had been going for. And after what Jean had said earlier, he knew Marco probably didn't want to hear anything more sex related.

  


The pizza had tasted just as good as it smelled, and it didn't even take them the length of a Criminal Minds episode to take out about half of the whole thing. Not that it was easy to determine "half" with how awfully the pizza was shaped and cut. 

However, after around an hour when they'd gotten into another episode, Jean started to notice Marco shifting uncomfortably. It didn't seem like anything odd, but Jean knew what was going on. He didn't say anything though, not wanting to make Marco upset or anything, but then _it_ started to happen.

Everyone made sounds when they had a stomach ache, or when they were in pain, that's just the way things worked. But Jean had such a hard time taking those noises for what they were when they usually sounded no different from the kinds of grunting and groaning people tended to make when they were fucking. Marco was quiet enough, it wasn't like those loud drawn out yawns people made sometimes.

That just happened to be part of the problem though. The smallest whine or whimper out of Marco's mouth went straight to Jean's dick, and that didn't even account for the huffs and uncomfortable sounding breaths that Marco made. Jean tried hard to ignore it, paying as much attention to the show as he could. He was stiff all over, biting down on the inside of his cheek to try and keep himself from blushing at the thoughts that were threatening to come to the forefront of his mind.

The blanket was such a blessing; If he got a boner and Marco _saw it_ , he'd put two and two together really fast, and Jean wasn't prepared with a good enough explanation to avoid things getting awkward. Marco's face was tense with discomfort, but Jean was trying his best not to look at him. He saw the way Marco was laying down, almost taking up two cushions, head laying on the arm rest.

" _Hnnh...._ " The whine had been just a _little_ louder than the rest, and it made Jean freeze up and swallow hard, the thought of Marco naked flashing in his mind. He immediately started to roughly scratch at the palm of his hand under the blanket, his last effort to get his dick to chill the fuck out, and to stop himself blushing.

This had to stop. "I swear to _God_ if you fart under this blanket I'm gonna smother you with it." Jean forced the words out of his mouth awkwardly, flexing his face muscles around afterwards to get his face to look relaxed and totally not turned on and embarrassed.

Marco blew air out his nose and pulled the blanket closer to him, "Shut up, I'm fine." Yeah, sure he was, because nearly curling up in a ball and whimpering in pain every 5 minutes was fine. 

"Uhmm, no, I'm gonna go get you some Tums." Jean insisted, getting up and leaving as quickly as he could without looking like he was actually rushing. He didn't want Marco to see his boner, even if he probably wouldn't have noticed since there's no way he was paying attention to Jean's crotch.

"Those don't _work_." Marco complained, much to Jean's understanding. Tums were the chalkiest, hardest to chew, most _disgusting_ thing you could buy at a Wal-Mart. Well, assuming it's not a Wal-Mart that sells chicken gizzards. Seriously how many weird fucks were out there that some Wal-Marts actually felt the need to sell those things?

Any time Jean had a stomach ache he went straight for the Saltine crackers and he suffered in silence. Because honestly, Jean didn't trust most things that came out of a bottle and essentially said it would cure some minor inconvenience, maybe, but might also severely injure or kill him. There was stuff like Tylenol he was okay with, but pretty much anything that wasn't for headaches or fevers he tried to avoid.

"Then what, because I mean, if you're not gonna stink up the place then you'll _probably_ start puking in like 10 minutes and I don't wanna see that shit." Jean was the kind of person that puked when he saw other people throw up, unfortunately. He read on the internet somewhere that people who did that did it as some kind of sympathy thing unwillingly. He would have easily taken legitimately engaging social skills over "pukes to make other pukers feel better" to file under reasons he was a caring person.

Marco huffed, but he had to have realized that the whole stomach ache thing was only going to ruin the night sooner or later. "There's like, this little bottle in the bathroom with small pills in it, get those." No name or color, great. It wasn't like there weren't a million small bottles in the downstairs bathroom. But Jean didn't argue. Instead he settled for rolling his eyes and muttering a little confirmation for Marco before heading into the bathroom.

Jean had used the bathroom a couple of times earlier, and the rose smell from the candle sitting on top of the toilet's water tank confused his nose every time. Like Marco said earlier, there was already an Air Wick plugged in, and roses just didn't smell as good with whatever artificial, slightly chemical smell was already in the room. It was probably for the best though. Jean really liked the smell of roses, but in the right mood the smell kind of turned him on. That _definitely_ wasn't a good idea right now.

Before bothering to even look for the drugs, Jean turned on the sink and ran his hands under the freezing cold water. He scratched at his hands and even got his wrists and some of his arms under the faucet too. Ice cold water was the complete opposite of arousing. To top it off he cupped his hands together and filled them with water, and he hesitated for a moment before bending down and splashing himself in the face. He shook his head in disgust as he stood up straight again. God did he hate cold water.

Jean looked in the mirror to start wiping the leftover water droplets off his face. Huh. He actually looked _nice_. Or at least he thought so now and would think the complete opposite later. For now though, he almost thought he could have worn the jeans he wanted to wear and maybe make something out of the night.

But he knew that he wasn't on a date, it didn't matter. Besides, Marco was a crumpled up mess on the couch and was probably going to throw up later. Snuggling, kisses, or anything sex related was out of the question even in Jean's wildest fantasies for what could've happened tonight. Even if it were a date, it would've been ruined right when Marco decided to fuck up the brownies.

Getting back to the more important task, Jean started looking around the sink counter for the supposed pill bottle. There was so much make up and hair care shit everywhere though, Jean was surprised they'd even had the courtesy to leave space for the soap. Bathrooms seemed like such dirty places to keep things like makeup and drugs, but it wasn't like Jean had any place to be talking about what was and wasn't clean.

Jean guessed there was no way the medicine was on the counter and started to look through the tower of shelves above the toilet. It just had to be a _tiny_ bottle too, didn't it? He found something that looked like a Benadryl bottle, and he figured there's no way some idiot out there decided to make heartburn medicine that looked exactly like the hot pink hell that was Benadryl. Jean had been one of those kids that got _hyper_ when he had it instead of getting sleepy, and as anyone could imagine, that didn't work out very well.

He ended up finding three different bottles that he could consider tiny, and decided that Marco could put back whichever ones weren't the right thing. One of them didn't even look like it had anything to do with stomach pain of any kind, but whatever, it was a bottle with tiny pills in it. Who knows, maybe Marco was secretly a drug addict and he hid his stash in regular pill bottles. That'd be wild, wouldn't it?

"'Hope it's one of these...." Jean said as he walked back into the living room. He was tempted to throw the bottles at Marco, but he made the smart choice to _not_ risk accidentally hitting him in the face. He was just about to sit down when Marco shot him an overly-positive smile. Jean froze, and looked at Marco suspiciously, "What?"

"Can you get me some water?" Marco asked, and as much as Jean wanted to tell him to stop being so lazy, he couldn't say no with the look Marco was giving him. Those damned puppy dog eyes that just screamed "please" and twisted Jean's arms like they were putty. Jean sighed and rolled his eyes, turning around and heading to the dining room.

He should've known he'd have to get it; Marco for whatever crazy reason, didn't drink pills unless it was with 100% flavorless water. Jean had mocked him once for it, calling him a spoiled princess, but it ended up really hurting Marco's feelings and Jean never said anything about it again. Maybe it was just like, being a picky eater, but Marco knew exactly what he wanted? Whatever, Jean didn't really care. It could've been some health superstition that his family had ingrained into his skull.

Jean grabbed two, just in case Marco wanted one later and thought he could make Jean do it for him yet again. "I don't wanna say I told you so, but...." Jean said, setting the water bottles down on the side table. " _But_ ," Marco muttered, "You're gonna be an ass and say it anyway?" He finished before sitting up and grabbing one of the water bottles.

"Wow! Rude much? I get your intestines are probably gonna explode but jeez, Marco, I go through so much work to take care of you and this's how you repay me?" Jean said exaggeratedly, ignoring the look Marco was giving him. He could've gone the extra mile and told Marco how cute his face looked when he was angry, but he didn't want to upset Marco's poor abused stomach.

Marco didn't say anything afterwards, returning to what must've been a more comfortable position. He looked absolutely miserable. Jean was thankful to his past self for not eating a lot of chocolate and brownies, because he knew if he were in Marco's position he'd already be in the bathroom hurling his entire stomach into the toilet like a frog. If they were both sick it would've just made the night terrible, but with it this way, Jean still got to look good.

The more comfortable Jean got on the couch, the more he realized he was fighting for leg space with Marco. He wanted to stretch his legs out like he had earlier, but Marco didn't look like he was going to move. So Jean tried to assert his dominance, or rather be an asshole, by slowly pushing his feet behind Marco's in the hopes that he wouldn't notice. Jean's feet were still fairly cold, and Marco's legs just happened to be very, very warm.

"Unng, _stop_. Your feet are freezing." Marco mumbled, swatting at Jean's legs with his free hand. Jean snorted and pulled his legs away when he realized how easily Marco could grab a foot again and tickle him. Speaking of which, it gave Jean a different idea. He attempted to use his own feet to take Marco's socks off, but even with his toes he didn't get a good grip on them. Marco huffed and kicked Jean a few times, mumbling something about how Jean was childish.

All the kicking quickly devolved into what was, essentially, a slightly aggressive game of footsie. Marco didn't have the energy to just kick Jean all day, and Jean's toes had begun to cramp from trying to pinch Marco's socks. By the time Jean had gotten bored with the prospect of stealing the socks, he realized how soft they were and just... kept rubbing his feet on them. Or maybe, they weren't all that soft and Jean was just getting lost in the moment.

Marco didn't seem to mind, because he didn't say anything about it, but it didn't take long for Jean to realize why. "Hey. Marco? Are you... are you going to sleep?" Jean asked, sitting up more to get a better look at Marco's face. "C'mon you can't go to sleep we're only on like, episode 6!" Jean kicked Marco's feet with more force than he had previously, earning an annoyed grunt out of Marco.

"I'm'not sleeping, sheesh, it's just, the light." Marco responded quietly. Whatever the hell it was that he took before must've had something in it that made people drowsy, or something. Maybe the stomach ache just made it hard for Marco to stay awake, Jean didn't know. Either way, he sighed in acceptance that Marco was definitely checking out for the night.

He threw his hand back to slap the light switch on the wall, "Owwh, damn it!" Jean hissed, his hand hitting the light switch just a little too hard. Marco snorted, stifling his laughter. Jean decided to pay him back by leaning forward and slapping his un-injured hand down on Marco's knee, but he'd been too slow and Marco pulled his leg to the side before Jean could hit him.

Jean _nearly_ slipped off the couch because of that, and he blew air out of his nose in embarrassment. Marco laughed as he put his leg back where it was, "Don't look at me like that, it's _your_ fault!" He was right, but Jean refused to acknowledge him as he leaned back into his side of the couch and yanked the blanket towards him.

At some point, one of them had initiated footsie again, not that Jean had really noticed since he'd actually gotten invested in the show again. He did however notice when Marco stopped moving his feet and instead started snoring. Jean looked over, and even though it was dark he still thought Marco looked cute when he was asleep.

The temptation was too strong, and Jean pulled his phone from his pocket and carefully turned it on, as if Marco might somehow sense that he was going to get his picture taken and wake up or something. Jean decided to use Snapchat, since he definitely didn't want the picture on anything like Facebook where their parents could see it and make embarrassing comments.

The lighting was terrible, but he didn't want to wake Marco up by turning the light back on, so he just leaned forward more instead. God, Marco was just too adorable. He looked so peaceful and innocent, and cuddle-able.... Jean got butterflies in his stomach just thinking about snuggling up to Marco on the couch, but he pushed the idea out of his mind and quickly finished taking the few pictures.

Marco didn't move an inch; He was completely out of it. Jean chewed on his lips as he looked at the pictures, thinking about what kinds of embarrassing shit he could say that would be waiting for Marco tomorrow. Assuming he managed to escape back home before Marco woke up and checked his phone, that is.

* * *

Jean hadn't really been keeping track of time, just letting episode after episode play while Marco snored in the background. Marco only sort of woke up once, and that was to mumble something about being cold before stealing almost the _entire blanket_ to cover himself with, bunching nearly half of it up and hugging it. Which was absolutely adorable, sure, but Jean was cold too and he didn't have the energy to go upstairs to grab another blanket.

This definitely wasn't how Jean had expected to spend his Valentine's Day, cold and in the dark while the gorgeous dumbass he had a stupid crush on decided to sleep through half of the night because he couldn't pass up the urge to gorge on candy for _one_ day. Of course, Jean felt bad that Marco had gotten such an awful stomach ache, but it was totally, 100% Marco's fault for overestimating his limits. In a way, he deserved to have a stomach ache.

Although as much as Jean wanted to let Marco sleep it all off, the second he heard the light jingling of keys from outside he immediately started to try waking him up, tapping on his legs repeatedly. There was no way in Hell Jean was going to try explaining to Marco's parents why the kitchen was dirty and the extremely wide array of candy splayed out on the floor.

"Your parents are home, wake up!" Jean hissed frantically, beginning to shake Marco's leg to help him wake up faster. He knew he should've cleaned up a bit sooner, or rather, make _Marco_ clean up sooner.

There was the possibility that it was actually Ymir coming home, but it didn't seem likely what with Ymir avoiding the house as much as possible to cut down on the amount of rent she had to pay.

Marco sat up looking confused and drowsy, and as the doorknob twisted he blinked a few times before tossing the blanket onto the floor over the candy. Jean would've loved to tell him that as nice as his quick thinking was, that was _probably_ just going to look more suspicious, but he couldn't bring himself to throw that kind of panic on him when there wasn't really anything else they could do.

Jean paused the episode and leaned back into the couch. He didn't know what to say or do, he just didn't want to look guilty. After all, it was his idea to make brownies and eat ice cream, but maybe if he blamed the candle he could avoid hearing the lecture he knew Marco was bound to get after Jean went home.

It wasn't like Marco's parents were anti-fun tyrants, but Marco didn't understand self control when it came to candy or certain desserts. Every Halloween when they were younger was incredibly awkward, with almost _all_ of Marco's candy being confiscated each year because they were too this or too that. Marco being older now and having more freedom just meant they couldn't control everything he put in his mouth, not that he was doing himself any favors gorging himself on candy and other shit when he could.

Honestly, Jean couldn't imagine living a life without being able to eat whatever the hell he wanted so long as he could get his hands on it. But even if he could sympathize it wasn't like he didn't see the problem. It wasn't like Marco wouldn't be able to horde shit at Jean's house and eat it when he came over; There was literally no need to eat as much as he did tonight, holiday or no.

"Uh, how long was I asleep?" Marco murmured as he looked at Jean, still blinking away the tiredness. "Like ah, 3 episodes? I dunno a few episodes. You missed all the good episodes." Jean explained, the good episodes of course being the ones where lots of people died. Now he was on another one he found was too boring, since it wasn't even about a serial killer.

Marco grunted in response and turned to look over at the entryway, "Hi Mom. Dad." He sounded just about as tired as he looked, but Jean didn't bother to poke fun at him. Instead he just went along with what Marco was doing, and gave a little wave over the couch, not bothering to sit back up.

"You two are still up? You didn't bring any girls over now, did you?" Marco's father asked, much to Jean's embarrassment. But Marco didn't even grace that question with an acknowledgement, simply pulling his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it, "Why wouldn't we be awake? It's only... uhh...." His mouth hung open slightly and he blinked slowly as he stared down at it. Adorable.

"It's like... 10." Marco decided, putting his phone away and rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Jean was pretty sure it was more like, 11:30, but he didn't want to be a smartass. The point was it wasn't even 1 a.m. yet, and even though it was a school night it wasn't like going to bed at a decent time was _ever_ on their list of priorities.

Jean could hear Marco's parents walking around, and was grateful that neither of them felt the need to turn the living room lights back on. Poor Marco would be absolutely _blind_ from that, but Jean was sure that they must've already guessed that by the way Marco looked and sounded.

Marco's mom made a disappointed hum from somewhere near the kitchen, and Jean silently prayed to God that the kitchen didn't seem like a complete disaster. "Did you have pizza for dinner?" She asked after a moment, and Marco looked absolutely exhausted as he sighed. "Yah." Marco answered quickly before getting onto the floor to gather up the candy.

Jean took the hint and moved to help him, tossing the blanket back onto the couch before picking up all the individual Dove chocolates that ended up scattering on the floor at some point.

Marco was going to turn 18 in a few months and somehow they'd both managed to make a complete mess without even thinking of it. How either of them were going to be functioning adults who did taxes and kept their lives in order was a complete _joke_ and a mystery.

Although Jean was sure that Marco would get an ear full at some point about how he'd wasted his savings, dirtied the kitchen, and left shit for ants to get on the floor. Jean was glad that he wasn't in Marco's shoes, and that he'd be in the peace and quiet of his own house by the time Marco's parents got around to issuing out some lectures.

"How was uhm, whatever you did?" Marco asked over his shoulder as the candy was finally all in one bag and easier to hide. Jean, being the nosy fuck he was, was kind of curious to know what kinds of "dates" married old people went on. Really, Jean didn't even think people like Marco's parents actually went on "dates" after the whole having two kids, working full time jobs, and being middle aged thing.

Maybe for anniversary's and birthdays, but Valentine's Day just seemed like more of a young, not-married people thing. He shuddered when he thought about the possibility he and Marco had unfortunately talked about earlier. That was _definitely_ something he didn't think old married people with kids should've been doing.

"Oh it was fantastic!" Marco's mom exclaimed excitedly. "We ordered this, what was it, some kind of steak, and it came with these lemon butter potatoes, oh but the _waiter_ ," Marco's father cut her off, "The waiter was _fine_ , let it go."

There was a short silence before Marco's mother continued, "Eric don't interrupt me, let me tell them what happened!" Jean was definitely interested in hearing what kind of thing a waiter at some fancy restaurant could've done to create such conflicting feelings between Marco's parents, but at the same time, almost every "the server was horrible" story that he heard from either of Marco's parents was exaggerated. It must've been a southern thing or something.

Marco seemed to be ignoring the conversation, probably too tired to really pay attention, as he pulled up the bag of candy and shoved it under the blanket on the couch. Jean thought that meant that it was time to sit on the couch again, but Marco just stayed on the floor. He really _was_ out of it, which was a blessing and a curse for Jean.

On the one hand, Marco looked cute, like he always did when he woke up. But on the other hand, well, he was fucking _out of it_ and probably not in a situation to be holding a conversation. Even now, he was staring at Jean with a dead look in his eyes. It was kind of creepy, but Jean figured that Marco was just spacing out and on his way to falling asleep where he sat.

Not sure what to do, Jean cleared his throat and sat up on the couch, "I kinda need a ride home?" He didn't want to be inconvenient but, it was definitely too cold and dark to walk home alone.

Marco snapped out of the daze he was in, "What? You don't wanna sleep over?" He looked more alert now, but he sounded awfully disappointed for some reason. What had he expected? They never once talked about turning things into a sleep-over, and on any other occasion Jean would've left hours ago. As much as Jean would love to do some spooning with Marco, in Marco's room, in Marco's glorious bed, that definitely could not have been what Marco was proposing, sadly.

"I can't, I've got homework to do." Jean groaned, although it was kind of a lie and Marco definitely knew that. Yes, he had homework to do, but he'd finish that in homeroom tomorrow. The real issue was his mother, who he knew would nag him for spending as much time at Marco's as he did. It'd be best if Jean just went home and got some sleep rather than giving his mother an excuse to sit him down and force them to "talk about things".

There was an echo of disapproving hums from both of Marco's parents, and Jean knew it was because they heard that Jean had put off his homework for so long. But it was late, and he wasn't their kid, so he'd be spared yet another lecture from them.

Marco's mom sighed and handed her husband the car keys, giving him a kiss on the cheek, "Well, my feet are killing me and I've had too much wine. Goodnight, stay safe!" There was some kind of silent adult-to-adult eye communication that they did, and Jean didn't take it as a good sign. Maybe Jean hadn't dodged lectures, and the short car ride to his house would be an annoyingly awkward one.

"Oh. Goodnight." Marco responded slowly, not even understanding that his mother probably didn't even hear him as she went upstairs. God, Marco was too cute when he was this tired. Jean just wanted to give him all kinds of little goodnight kisses on the cheek.

Marco stood up and stretched, a small yawn escaping him. He looked more awake, but Jean wasn't sure it made much of a difference. "Okay, I'm gonna go with you. I can sleep over?" Yeah no, it made no difference.

Jean got up and resisted the giggle that threatened to be heard, "Uhhh no? It'll take you forever to get your stuff." That and, if Marco really wasn't feeling any better, he didn't want him to end up locked in the bathroom hurling all night.

The pout on Marco's face was almost heartbreaking, but neither of them said anything as they headed towards the front door to get their shoes on. Jean hoped that Marco's dad didn't notice that Jean was wearing a pair of Marco's pants, because he really didn't wanna have to explain the egg thing. Which reminded Jean that Marco never put the load of clothes from the washer into the dryer. Fuck.

The silence in the house became quite awkward when Jean had put his shoes on and was ready to go, but Marco was still fumbling to get _one_ shoe on. This was the fool that Jean was in love with. Just wanted to suggest that Marco should stay home and go to bed, but Marco must have sensed that they were waiting on him, "I got it." He muttered, shoving his foot into the first shoe, finally.

Unfortunately, Marco's dad didn't find it very amusing. "You know, it's getting late and I've got work tomorrow." Marco may not have realized it, but he was giving some pretty rude side eye to his dad, "It's not my fault you stayed out all night." _Jesus Christ_ what was he doing? Jean went wide eyed and looked down at the floor. It was the best way he had to hide from the tension.

Either Marco's dad was too tired to further discipline Marco, or he knew that Marco was far too out of it to even properly receive any kind of scolding. It wasn't like Marco to so openly sass his parents, especially not in front of his friends. Jean knew that most of the trouble Marco got into with his family, if ever, happened in private. He'd heard the stories about Marco getting yelled at, but he'd never actually heard either of Marco's parents really raise their voice.

After some even more awkward silence, Marco got his other shoe on, "Okay, ready." Eager to get home before Marco said anything else in his tired state to insult his dad, Jean twisted the door knob and pulled it open, stepping outside immediately. The warm smell of not-brownies was rudely interrupted by the air from outside, and while Jean resented the candle for making him crave brownies earlier, it was such a warm and happy smell compared to cold nothingness.

The whole walk to the car Jean kept looking to the side, half expecting Marco to trip and fall at some point. "What did you _take_?" Jean finally asked, not convinced that Marco wouldn't be wide awake now with the wind chill. "Sominex? Yeah." Marco answered quietly. Jean wished he knew what the fuck that was, that luckily Marco picked up on his confusion. "You grabbed the wrong bottles, okay, Sominex's for sleep."

Jean wanted to argue with him, and tell him that he swears to God there were no other "tiny pill bottles" in the bathroom, and even then, if he grabbed the wrong shit then why didn't Marco say anything? Why did he even take those? But Jean didn't wanna have an argument while Marco's dad was literally right there.

It all made sense to Jean now though. When Marco took anything that was supposed to specifically make him sleep, it worked, and it worked _very_ well. It made Jean a little upset, since Marco clearly knew that taking any kind of sleeping pills was going to pretty much end the fun of the night. But, whatever. 

Marco looked ready to fall right back asleep once they were in the car. Jean made the mental note to hunt down some Sominex for himself. Although if Benadryl made him hyper, he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out what something specifically made to knock people out would do to him. Maybe it'd kill him? God wouldn't _that_ be a relief?

Still, If Jean had a dollar for every night he couldn't get to sleep because he was overthinking some stupid shit like how the ending of Black Beauty fucked him up as a kid, then he could buy himself a new face.

The entire ride back to Jean's house was quiet, but even he could tell that there was Hell for Marco to pay afterwards. He noticed how Marco's dad looked into the backseat through the mirror a lot, like, a ridiculous amount of times. The last time Jean had been in such an awkward situation, it'd been because he got drunk, and he was fairly certain Marco hadn't done any drinking, so what was wrong?

Was the kitchen that bad? Or was Marco's comment earlier too much of an insult to let slide? Who knows, maybe Sominex was actually like cocaine or something and it was illegal or whatever or something awful like that.... It could've just been that Marco wasn't supposed to take anything like Sominex on a school night, and maybe Marco's parents both knew exactly how Marco acted when on the stuff. It could've been anything.

Whatever it was, Jean was sure Marco would tell him all about it tomorrow.

Jean didn't know what to say when the car stopped; Marco still looked like he was barely alive, and there was a very clearly disappointed vibe coming off of Marco's dad. Jean unbuckled and turned to look at Marco, "Hey Marco...? Goodnight! Uhm.... you should check Snapchat." Marco rubbed his eyes and yawned, "Yeah? Okay, 'night. See ya tomorrow."

As much as Jean would love to skitter out of the car and into his house before things got any more awkward, he couldn't just be a rude douchebag. Jean opened the door and slid off the seat and out of the car, before awkwardly leaning back into the car. "Uh, thanks for driving me home, my mom's probably asleep right now." Marco's dad gave a short nod, "Oh it's not a problem, have a good night."

Jean turned around and closed the door, eager to get out of the cold and into his house. He tried to pretend that the car wasn't still there when he stopped at his door and pulled his keys out of his pocket. It just felt weird, being watched. He knew it was just a safety thing so if some psychotic serial killer/kidnapper decided to snatch Jean up, at least someone would know, but still. Safety seemed so inconvenient sometimes.

It was such a relief when he finally stepped inside and closed the door; The house was dead quiet, so nobody could've been awake, and that meant he could just... go to bed! Jean wasn't exhausted or anything, but with the week he'd had there was really no reason to stay up. His phone contained a social minefield, and since there was next to nothing on T.V., aside from doing his homework there wasn't anything to do.

He kicked his shoes off and locked the door, then began walking upstairs quietly. Just because everyone in the house was asleep didn't mean he couldn't accidentally wake them up, and the last thing he needed was something else to be nagged at for on top of anything else his mother was upset about.

Being stuck in Marco's house with the Chocolate Layer Cake candle for so long made it easy for Jean to really notice the smell of his room for once. It certainly wasn't a _good_ smell, but he knew he needed to get his laundry out, and maybe wash his blankets and whatnot. And vacuum, and throw out all the leftover food, snack bags, and soda cans....

Yeahhh no, he was never going to be able to clean his room completely. He'd just have to wait for his mother to storm in with a trash bag and some Lysol one day like she always did, and let her clean it up. Sure she'd harass him for it, again, like she always did, but Jean could handle it.

Jean pulled his keys and phone out of his pocket, and he noticed he had a recent text from Marco.

> "i hate you" 

Jean smiled, knowing that Marco must've checked Snapchat like he'd suggested. There was only one way to respond: A heart emoji. Marco would complain more about it, Jean was sure of that, but he doubted Marco even had the energy to stay up long enough to throughoughly scold him over the phone.

He threw his keys onto his bedside table, and plugged his phone into its charger. Then, he realized, there was the issue of the pants he was wearing, blushing as he thought about how they were Marco's pants and he was just about to sleep in them. "Stop it." He muttered to himself, pinching the skin on his hand to keep him from getting any ideas.

There was no way, with how turned on Jean could get over the smallest of thoughts, that he'd be able to handle sleeping in Marco's pants. If only it were like the good old days, when having to borrow a pair of Marco's pajama pants during last minute sleepovers and such was a completely innocent thing. Now Jean could barely look at Marco's legs without getting a boner. Puberty was one hell of an experience.

Sitting down on his bed, Jean leaned back and pushed the pants down to his knees, kicking them the rest of the way off. The jeans that would've accentuated his ass so _nicely_ through the night had he just gone and went for it, were still on his bed. He sighed wistfully as he threw them onto the floor with the other pair. He really wanted to wear them! But he would've gotten egg all over them if he had, and Marco would've been asleep for the last few hours of the night.... For once, Jean would've liked it if the world didn't make him lose no matter what choice he made.

Jean shivered as he felt the cold on his legs, a chill running all through his body. Sure the heat was on, but it's not like they blasted it. He quickly pulled his legs back onto his bed and squirmed under the covers, curling up from the cold.

You'd think, if it was so cold, why couldn't Jean just wear some pants or something? Well he'd _just_ shaved his legs recently! Well, the proper term was waxed, but Jean didn't ever wanna think about wax again after what it did to the poor skin surrounding his dick.

But the point was, Jean's legs were perfectly smooth and soft, and that didn't last forever. He had to enjoy the sweet silky feeling of his legs on his anything-but-silky sheets and blankets! That was why it would've been so great to take a nap in Marco's bed without his pants on. Plus, skin on skin was supposed to heat up faster than skin on not-skin, right? So he'd probably get warmer without pants on anyway.

Normally this would be the part where Jean whipped out some Bath&Body Works body butter and treated his legs to a nice bath of temporary moisturizing and even _more_ temporary "girly" fragrance. But, as much as Jean loved his perfectly shaved legs to stay smooth and healthy, he didn't want to give himself any ideas, what with lotion of any kind being so close to Vaseline.

Jean was a side-sleeper, at least for the most part. Sometimes he slept on his chest but he was pretty sure that everyone did that at least once in a while. His legs were right on top of each other, as close as they could be, one pressed down heavily on the other... and he was cold. So cold, that he couldn't help rub his legs together _just_ a little bit.

Maybe even a little bit _too much_ , Jean started to notice. He immediately clamped his legs down and kept still, breathing out his nose uncomfortably into his pillow. Not tonight. That's what he kept repeating in his head.

It'd been a while since he last got off, and giving in even a little was such a slippery slope for Jean to tumble down on and land in a pit of sin. It took everything in him to not melt at Marco's touch earlier! Well, maybe not everything, he did have self control, if not enough of it to keep himself from touching himself any time he he ignored the urge for more than a month. Christmas break _scarred him_ , okay?

As much as he'd love the warmth around his legs, Jean took a deep breath and tried to get his legs to relax. Sleep needed to happen, nothing else.

The silence started to become less apparent with every breath he took or shift he made in his bed, and more of the white noise that should've helped him get to sleep filled his ears. Emphasis on _should've_ , because Jean felt a small itch on his chest and went to scratch it, gently of course. His fingers drifted to one of his nipples and he just sort of, played with it a little, not really thinking about it.

The feeling was innocent for maybe two seconds, and then the gentle feeling of being a desperately lonely and horny teenager filled him with the urge to rub his legs together once again. Jean indulged in it slightly, hoping that the vague sensation might get too tiresome for him to go any further, and maybe he could get some sleep.

That was the lie he told himself in his head, anyway, as he ignored the fact he was getting a boner and the fact that his mind wasn't just idly going through the motions of the kind of weak ass tantalizing only an 11 year old would be satisfied with.

Regardless, he let his legs press and rub together slowly anyway, and he thought about how wonderful it was to finally have gorgeous, smooth, hairless legs again. It'd been too long. Way too damn _long_ since he'd been so comfortable and relaxed in his own bed with his own body....

Breakdown or no, the end result Jean got was almost worth it. A smooth face for a couple of days, and the sweet skin on his legs got to breathe and really touch and feel itself again after a very long 6 or so months of forced hibernation. Marco really had no idea what he was missing out on, honestly. But then again, Marco tanned so much his legs would probably never feel as soft as Jean's did, whether he shaved or not.

Parting is such sweet, whatever that line was, right? Jean parted his legs and used them to grab some of the blankets he was under, gently pulling the bunched up fabric in between his knees. His thighs and lower legs still got to touch of course, so it wasn't like they were really apart, it was just something for extra "umph" so to speak.

He tired to keep it to a minimum, the grinding his legs against a little mound of blankets while he fondled himself that is, if that was even possible. He didn't _want_ things to get all hot and disgusting, even if the rest of his body seemed perfectly fine with that.

Little by little, the portion of blanket clenched in between Jean's knees got larger, his legs pulling more of it down until it was enough that it was directly in between his thighs. Jean tried to keep things under control by only breathing through his nose. Less oxygen, less incentive to be filthy, right? But he let himself take a nice, big breath of air through his mouth.

He let out a sigh of relief as he let his hips start moving, some tension being let loose as the sensation that had excited his dick was less of a secondary reaction to what Jean had been doing to the rest of his body. If only he were as flexible as he was a few years ago, then he might be able to pull off wild, crazy miracle like giving himself a blowjob.

Dry humping always seemed to be like some kind of joke no matter where Jean looked, and he just didn't get it. Maybe it wasn't exactly foreplay, but the nicest, emphasis on nicest and not necessarily "best", orgasms Jean ever had didn't start with fingering himself or taking a firm hand down to his exposed dick.

Besides, everyone had to be doing it wrong if dry humping ever stayed dry for very long. Between the sweat, and Jean's imagination of the kinds of things people were meant to do with their mouths to whoever they were with, and the _hopefully_ inevitable release, how "dry" did people think it was? Clearly they were all passionless losers who couldn't find the value in getting their ass grabbed.

Marco could probably just give Jean a slow, relaxing leg rub from his ass to his ankles, fully clothed, and Jean would probably get off to it eventually. Maybe that made _him_ the pathetic one? Ha! Haha, no. Nope. Jean knew what he wanted and what he liked, there was nothing wrong with getting over excited at the idea of the person he was madly in love with giving him exactly that.

The attention he was paying to his nipples had grown a bit inconsistent; Jean would go from pinching and twisting them until they hurt, then gently rub them between two of his fingers with such lightness he wouldn't have been able to push a coin across a table. But it felt good, and the gentle tingle it sent through his body was too good to quit now.

His free hand had been clutching the sheets in varying strengths for a while now, not that Jean could remember when he felt the need to start doing it. But now he'd let it wander downwards, grabbing the blankets in between his legs and pulling the bunch of fabric up further until it was touching his shirt. It was far from having a person in between his legs, but Jean wasn't supposed to be fantasizing anyway.

At least he was sort of keeping with his word, right? He wasn't touching his dick, his fingers hadn't graced his heavily abused asshole, so he was doing good. But Jean could feel the sweat on himself now, and he couldn't help but grab the blankets in between his legs and angle himself differently, grinding and thrusting into them with more force now that he had quite literally given himself a helping hand.

The fabric of his underwear wasn't super thin or soft, but it was enough that the fiction was hot and warm enough to excite himself even more. His dick, his balls, even his ass was just in between getting enough attention and just not enough. At this point he was almost exclusively breathing out of his mouth, gasping and panting as he tried to satisfy himself without making the sinful little mistake of slipping either of his hands into his underwear.

His ankles and feet were twisting and pinching at the sheets in a kind of disappointment, and they needed something to wrap around and dig themselves into that wasn't as cold as the bottom of the bed. Something soft like not even the silkiest sheets could be: Like skin.

If only someone else were there to hold him, to give him something other than some lifeless blankets to rub in between his legs and grind against his dick. Someone to run their hands down Jean's back, and give him kisses on his neck because he definitely didn't have the breath to spare for a kiss on the lips, not for something like this. Not tonight. Someone, who could pinch his ass to keep him from getting too excited, and then make up for it by whispering in Jean's ear that _he loved him_.

" _Fuck!_ " Jean spat, panting, his eyes shooting open and his legs furiously kicking the blankets off and away from him. He had been so close to coming just then, but he couldn't, he couldn't let himself _torture_ himself like that.

The cold air stuck to his damp skin like tape being slapped onto him, but Jean welcomed it. It was one thing, to let himself slip and dry hump himself into an orgasm to help him chill the fuck out and get some nice post-orgasm sleep, but he couldn't let it go so far as to fantasize about Marco doing shit to him! He'd never sleep tonight if he let that happen.

Jean decided that sleep would have to wait a while longer, sliding out of his bed and stumbling towards the door. His balance always got fucked up after he put in a mini workout with his legs and some blankets for a while, but he hadn't let it get far enough to really matter.

He hurried out of his room, suddenly not caring for how much noise he made, flicking the hallway light on before rushing to get downstairs. A nice, cold soda was what he needed. It'd keep him awake and out of bed long enough for his bed to cool down and his remaining sweat evaporate, then, then he could go to bed at some point.

It was even colder downstairs, and the kitchen tiles were pure punishment on his poor toes. But this was good, therapeutic in a way. Jean was never very good at self-discipline, and unless the world took it upon itself to punish him for doing stupid shit, he usually ended up doing it all over again despite telling himself he'd do things differently.

After all, it'd been roughly 5 years since the summer he'd gotten a crush on Marco, and no matter how many times he told himself he'd tell him, he still hadn't. Every time Jean did something like this only made it worse; Raising the consequence factor for whenever Marco would find out, if ever. Another filthy sin for the record, something for Marco to gag and gasp at in horror, if he didn't feel the same way about Jean.

Jean flipped the kitchen light on, pulled the refrigerator door open, and knelt down to look at his options. He could do the stupid thing and crack open a Mountain Dew and just try pulling an all-nighter? It was hard to jack off when you couldn't even spell your name right.

As flustered and annoyed with himself as Jean was, when he grabbed a regular old can of Pepsi and grabbed the fridge's door to pull himself back up, he froze. Only someone as shamelessly desperate and horny as Jean could be so stunned by something so simple. Sitting there in the dish drainer by the sink, were tons of cleaned dishes. One of which, just happened to be a turkey baster.

Where, oh _where_ , had that thing been all those months ago? Jean slowly got back on his feet, eyeing the utensil thoughtfully. Maybe it'd been in the dishwasher back then, when he was tearing through the house looking for anything that just might make him feel like a real man was shoving their dick up Jean's ass.

Jean swallowed, shame bubbling in the back of his mind, as the ideas started to run through his head. It was tempting. It really was. But by now, "temptation" was just another way to say "inevitable" for Jean. Its shape... it was perfect, really. The rubber ball at the end? Not an issue, he could just take that off.

He clenched his legs together for a moment before rubbing them together, and he bit his lip in concentration. Masturbation was like, healthy, right? He read that on the internet somewhere. It relieved stress or whatever, and after the week Jean had... he deserved something _special_. Right? If he didn't fantasize about Marco, then it kinda balanced itself out! One sin for another.

Too lonely and horny for his own good, Jean made his choice. He pulled the turkey baster out of dish drainer, popping the rubber top off and tossing it back with the other dishes. Although now that there were holes on both sides of the tube, Jean almost reconsidered things. He looked around the kitchen, worry on his face as the shame threatened to to ruin his late night plans.

Somewhere on the internet there'd been some article about air going inside your ass could kill you, or something. Jean didn't want that to be him. Luckily he remembered what he'd done the first time he took that big step into his life of never ending sin: Zip-Loc. It didn't matter that it was ridiculous or that Marco seemed to think it was the funniest thing in the world, not that Marco had any right to make fun of Jean anymore, but that wasn't the point.

Jean grabbed a few of the wonderful little gems that were Zip-Loc's perfect portion chicken breast bags before scurrying away to the safety of his room, trying to keep as quiet as possible on the way back.

It was odd, the way he felt. The last few times he'd shoved something weird up his ass, sure he'd convinced himself that it was an alright idea, but in the moment he hadn't felt much shame.

Maybe it was because deep down he knew that his justifications were all crap, and that he could masturbate like a normal person without fantasizing about Marco if he really tried.... Jean didn't want that though. He, _liked_ putting things in him that weren't his fingers, and he _liked_ to imagine Marco doing things to him.

He really was lonely and pathetic, and a weirdo, wasn't he? Too bad. The only one who had to know that was Jean, and as much as he had problems with letting grudges go, his ability to be in complete denial about things was pretty good too. And he knew he wasn't the only person in the world who felt lonely enough to do weird shit to get off.

Jean locked his bedroom door behind him and turned his bedroom light on. It was one thing to dry hump in the dark, but he needed some light to at least make sure his makeshift dildo went into him right. Besides, he could turn the light off from his bed later if he needed to.

Knowing he probably wouldn't need it anymore except as maybe an emergency ice pack to calm himself down a little, he set his soda on his desk. Next he opened his dresser drawer, pulling out his precious tub of Vaseline. To think, he wouldn't have ever put anything strange up his ass if he hadn't had Vaseline on hand! That, or he'd try using Bat&Body Works lotion and would end up with a burning sensation up his ass.

He slid two of the Zip-Loc bags onto the turkey baster tube, and he tried to ignore the lines and measurements printed onto the outside plastic. How much did he have to soil before he was satisfied? Bananas, razors, toothbrushes, _the holy cross_ , and now the turkey baster that had made dozens of turkeys over the years. There was a special place in Hell for people like Jean, he knew it.

Jean opened the Vaseline and scooped some out, slathering it all over the mess that was his makeshift dildo as best he could. It was messy, and Jean wasn't even sure how well the bags would stay on once he really got into it. But there was only one way to find out, right?

The cold air didn't treat Jean well when he slid his underwear off and let them slip onto the floor as he climbed into bed, which quickly prompted him to climb back under the covers. For the most part they were still warm, but since Jean left them unfurled and exposed, the air had stolen away most of the heat, but left the dampness from his sweat. It was gross, but what he was about to do was even more disgusting and embarrassing to deal with.

When he had seen the baster, his mind had filled with an image of him really roughly and quickly thrusting the poor thing in and out of himself, but as Jean leaned back in his half cooled, moist sheets, he wasn't so sure if that was what he really wanted.

He scooped more Vaseline out and carefully pushed his hand under the blankets, spreading it around his asshole like he usually did and making a mess of his sheets at the same time. Jean stopped and looked around his room, suddenly feeling overly exposed despite being covered in blankets. Embarrassed, he sat up and leaned to the side to turn the light off despite his earlier feelings on the matter.

There were butterflies in his stomach as he let the darkness blind him. For once he was nervous because he really had no idea what he was doing, instead of getting overly excited about sticking something ridiculous inside him. It wasn't exactly rocket science though, he just had to shove the tube inside his ass like anything else until it felt good. He knew that wasn't exactly how it was going to play out, but he tried not to focus on that.

He leaned backwards and stared at the ceiling as he started to gently move his fingers around his entrance. It wasn't all that exciting, feeling more like a means to an end than exciting foreplay. See, this is why Jean doesn't always go straight to fingering when he wants to get off, sometimes it's just too much at one time to really _enjoy_ it.

Disappointed with the slow rate of his own arousal, he used his other hand to take some more Vaseline. It wasn't a lot, just enough to hopefully ease things along. With his two fingers that he'd been using to tease himself, he gently pushed them inside himself and then stretched them apart enough for him to push the new Vaseline inside him.

Jean shivered immediately and whimpered, surprised at how cold the Vaseline felt inside him compared to how it felt on his skin. It kind of tickled, and Jean sucked in his lips, biting down on them as he did so, to keep himself from giggling at all.

It'd been kind of chilly in his room, sure, but he hadn't expected his Vaseline to be cold enough to almost feel like an ice cube was being shoved up his ass. He imagined what might've happened if he'd accidentally bought the kind of Vaseline that came with menthol in it and just happened to not notice. What a nightmare that would be.

The cold didn't turn him on, but to compensate for the sudden change he began to finger himself a little faster, hoping that it would make the Vaseline a little less cold if it were getting spread around quicker.

Jean wiped as much of the leftover Vaseline on his left hand off on his blankets, contemplating what to do next with his free hand. He could make things harder for himself and just, _not_ do anything with it, or he could actually start touching his dick, since that was what he'd really wanted from the start.

But then, what if it was all over too fast, before he could even feel the lovely turkey baster inside him? He couldn't just keep touching himself until he came over and over again; Jean was almost exclusively a one-and-done kind of guy, y'know? Masturbating was exhausting work, especially when you added large, hard, makeshift dildos to the mix.

There were so many things he could do. He could even get that body butter shit out and give at least one of his legs a nice massage while his other hand did the more important prep work, but it was just _criminal_ to pay such good attention to one leg and leave the other hanging.

It was both of them or neither of them, he couldn't settle for anything in between after such a long time without them being pristine. They deserved a lot of TLC, and Jean promised to give them that another day when he wasn't so distracted by sexual thoughts and the need to masturbate.

After enough thinking, Jean decided to just go back to playing with his nipples, trying to be more gentle now than before though. There really was too much of a good thing, and that included overstimulating his nipples to the point they didn't do anything for him anymore. It was going to happen eventually, but Jean pretended like it'd be enough, like he could just take his shirt off later if he was starting to get bored. But it was too cold to take his shirt off, so that definitely wasn't happening.

Jean's right arm was busy moving back and forth slowly as he fingered himself, and like any other time his hand and wrist were rubbing up against everything. They touched the sheets, his thigh, and of course all the constant rubbing and touching was annoying for his balls and his dick. The smallest bit of attention, and it wasn't even _meant_ to be there. They were just in the way.

But the thing that was bothering him wasn't his overly anxious dick, it was his arm as it moved across all the hair he still had down there. It was normal, and Jean was used to it, but what was so offputtting was the small little patch of skin that he'd waxed the other day. It was, despite still stinging a bit, as smooth as could be. It was such a weird contrast to all the long, thick, sweat-coated hairs that kept brushing against his skin.

He almost wanted to laugh as he pulled his left hand down to touch it for a moment. If only he could've gotten rid of the _rest_ of his annoying pubic hair, then he'd be smooth almost all over. Jean wasn't exactly turned on by perfectly soft, smooth skin, and hair didn't necessarily disgust him, it was just that hair got in the way of things. Of how _good_ his body looked and felt. Minus his face of course.

Jean groaned as he pushed a third finger into himself, and he imagined what it'd be like to get a nice, slow blowjob. How was anybody gonna really get into it if they had a face full of pubic hair shoved in their face each time they deep-throated him, huh? If Jean couldn't feel their lips touch the skin covering his, what was the bone called, the pubic bone? Pelvis? Tibia? Whatever the hell it was that was above his dick, if their lips didn't touch it then Jean wouldn't be getting what he really wanted.

The time for getting blowjobs was probably very, very far off into the future for him though, and Jean let his left hand grab at the base of his dick, rubbing it. But he quickly let it go with a whine, scolding himself mentally for being so impatient and easily distracted. It wasn't his fault though, he just wasn't getting excited enough like he had been before....

Jean huffed and gently tapped on his abdomen with his fingers, desperately waiting for the tense warmth to start up again sooner rather than later. He knew that it wouldn't be that easy tonight, not after what he'd done, or rather not done, to himself before.

Enough time had passed for Jean to convince himself he was ready to stop fingering himself and that he could try fucking himself with his preferred "dildo" for the night. It was dark and he couldn't see it, but he managed to find it after feeling around for it. Although, he grabbed the slicked up end by mistake, and he sucked on his teeth in disgust for touching it. As if he had any place to be disgusted by a little bit of Vaseline on some plastic, after all the things he'd imagined, and after he'd put an actual _fruit_ in his ass.

Jean pulled his fingers out of himself after one final, gentle stretch, and took the wrapped turkey baster tube out of his other hand. His right hand was just better suited to guiding and forcing large objects into himself. He used two of his fingers on his left hand to reach back down and gently spread his ass cheeks apart to make things easier, and that's when the magic started to happen.

The sensation was even _weirder_ than the last time he'd used a Zip-Loc baggie as a sort of condom. It was colder, and since he'd double bagged the tube the rustling bags just didn't feel right as he slowly guided the tube close to his asshole. What was worse was the way the bags started to tighten as he pushed the tip against his entrance, the bags rustling even more loudly the closer and closer he got to pushing the tube all the way in.

At the very least, the tube was very small at the end he was pushing it in, and the second his asshole gave in, the rest was simple and smooth. Jean made a high pitched whine, not that he cared, as he felt it slide in a few inches. But turkey basters only got thicker the higher they went, and Jean had to stop there. He wasn't ready to jam the whole thing into him, god no.

He waited a few moments, very slowly wiggling the tube in his hand so that he could get more used to it, before trying to push more in. This time he bit down on his lip so that he wouldn't make as much noise, but that didn't stop the squeak of whines from escaping him as he desperately tried to steady his breathing through his nose.

Jean's shirt was soaking wet under his armpits, a clear indication that his heart was racing and he was more than ready to really get things going like before. But even as he held himself up with his left arm, and he started to feel the tingle and excitement of something so much bigger than his fingers rubbing and pushing against his insides, he wasn't really in love with the experience.

He could definitely get off like this, sure, he just had to lay back and use his left hand to touch his dick a little. But that wasn't what Jean _wanted_. He didn't just want a release from physical attention, he wanted a dirty fantasy to push him over the edge and leave him a crippled little mess that could barely breathe afterwards. Was that so wrong?

But Jean knew he couldn't fantasize about Marco, regardless of what he wanted, so he stopped for a minute to think about what he could do. It wasn't like he hadn't fantasized about other people fucking him before. Faceless men and women who'd do things for him in the privacy and safety of his own mind. The problem was, Marco was Jean's "perfect" man. Almost anything Jean could fantasize about wanting someone to do to him, he could see Marco doing it all.

It'd be easy if he wasn't shoving something inside himself tonight, because then he could've imagined a hot girl with nice boobs and pretty lips instead. Jean thought hard, thinking about what kinds of things were too much for him to imagine Marco doing.

Then it hit him. Jean couldn't see himself as being _dominant_ in anything sexual with Marco. He just couldn't. He didn't know why, just, it was too hard for him to imagine it and even pretend to believe. There weren't a lot of things involving being fucked in the ass that really came out to being "dominant", but there was one thing that Jean couldn't get enough of when watching porn: Riding.

Jean didn't think it fully counted as being the "dominant" one, since the one doing the riding was the one getting penetrated, but they were still technically "on top". And that was pretty much enough in Jean's mind to have most of the control. He definitely couldn't imagine Marco being _underneath him_ , no, no no no _no_ , that was truly too much for Jean to think about. That was true shame right there.

He couldn't get in a very comfortable position that he saw in porn videos where people would ride a guy's dick, but it was all a fantasy anyway, so as long as he kept himself feeling good then he could probably get by with his imagination.

Embarrassed and with a blush on his face that he couldn't even see, Jean carefully got onto his left side and pulled his blankets over him. The worst thing that could go wrong would be getting too cold to get off, and Jean wanted to make sure that didn't happen.

Jean kept his eyes shut to help make the fantasy seem as real as possible. One day he'd buy a nice dildo made especially for this kind of thing, but for now the slowly warming turkey baster would be enough. He reached his right hand behind his back and wiped away some of the Vaseline, before grabbing at the wider base of the tube and clutching his hand around it firmly.

Everything seemed good and fine as he started to move his hips back and forth to help out where his hand was lacking, although he had to be careful not to thrust his hips around too much. He didn't want to shove the whole thing up his ass, if that was even possible. But he'd never had something in him that was so weirdly cone-like.

It was a weird sensation how much he could move the thinner end around inside him, but how little it'd truly "move" the closer it was to the other end. Overall the feeling was _strange_ , but in a good way. He still got to feel like something thick was inside him near his asshole, but got to pay more direct attention in all kinds of areas where it really mattered.

Jean had started to build his fantasy, him on top of some guy's body, not even worrying about the finer details, just the ones that mattered. Like the fact that their dick was big enough to make Jean forget that what was inside him was definitely not the size of the head on anyone's dick.

The clearer the fantasy got, as he imagined his hands touching someone else's skin, gripping different parts of them as he pleased, his mind did the stupid thing and started to ask those "finer detailed" questions.

Why wasn't his nameless sex toy moving? He wasn't fucking around with an unconscious person, was he? No of course not. Jean wasn't into that. They were just, tied up? Yeah, their hands were tied. They were _wide_ awake, and enjoying things almost as much as Jean was.

He let his hips start to do most of the work now, his hand mostly just acting as something to twist and turn the turkey baster to keep things interesting.

But why wasn't his mystery partner saying anything? Not even Jean knew how to stay _completely_ quiet when he was masturbating. Why? Was Jean absolutely _certain_ this guy was awake? And not dead? Someone who doesn't move _or_ say anything just wasn't sexy.

Because, because they were too busy moaning and groaning like the should've been, that made sense. Jean didn't need to hear words out of some stranger's mouth, that wasn't the point of this fantasy, God, why did it matter? He wished his mind would stop making excuses to get him to stop doing this. He'd already decided he deserved a good orgasm, which meant fantasizing and shoving weird things up his ass, that was just how things were!

Jean finally let his left hand move down to start stroking his dick, very slowly at first and not even going near the tip. He didn't want to orgasm too fast, that's why he'd eased up on using his other hand to jam the tube in him as much.

He was breathing heavily, his breath coming straight back at him from his face being so close to the blankets he was under. It made it harder to breathe, but Jean liked that. He couldn't concentrate on holding his breath when he needed to because his fantasy was far more important.

There was this kind of, back and forth, with his fantasy. He couldn't decide what he wanted to do with it. He didn't know if he even wanted them to be on a bed. They could've been on a couch, or a chair, or, hell, even the floor. And it did matter, because, well, because Jean _said so_ , that's why.

The floor was too crude and messy, no, that wasn't sexy. Chairs? They were too small, weren't they? Maybe if Jean were alone and had one of those dildos that stuck to whatever it was put on, then sure. A couch seemed good enough. Jean could grab onto their shoulders, touch their neck, pull at their hair more.

Another idea popped into his mind, and it shocked Jean into faltering for a second, before bringing his left hand straight to the tip of his dick and rubbing his thumb across it repeatedly. It really, really turned him on, but he tried not to think too hard about it. He didn't want to get it over too fast, then it wouldn't feel as good.

The second Jean started to feel like he was getting closer to that mid-point between starting to touch himself and an orgasm, the moment where he could really feel his stomach start to tighten up and his dick just got a little too needy for attention, Jean held his breath. He had a very hard time doing that whole, roller coaster thing, y'know to stop before he came just to rile himself back up again?

He was impressed with himself that he'd stopped earlier, but even then, that hadn't been with the intention to build the tension back up again. So if he didn't cut himself short now, at least a few times, then he was going to come to soon. He'd be like the butt of every joke with straight women, not that he fully understood the joke to begin with. What was wrong with being easy to satisfy...?

Jean hated that he could hear nothing but the rustle of the plastic in between his ass cheeks, and to be honest, it was starting to really distract him. So he lifted his right leg up, and left his dick alone for a second so that he could push some of the blankets in between his legs. When he lowered his leg again, it was being comfortably held up about a foot or so from his other leg, which made it easier for Jean to push more of the turkey baster into him.

He kept his face buried in his pillow to muffle the whimpering and tiny moans that came from having to stretch his asshole _even more_ so that it would fit. Jean let his mind wander back into his fantasy, his hips finding a new, more comfortable pace to thrust at. It was a little more difficult to pump his hand over his dick now that there were blankets pressing against his hand on the lower side, but that just meant a little more work he had to put in.

Jean whined when he twisted his right hand, and pushed his hips back in just the perfect way that the tube ended up pressing against a certain area deep inside him that just drove him crazy. But he couldn't just slam the damned thing against his prostate, that'd be ridiculous. There was more to making himself feel good then touching the tip of his dick or rubbing a single spot up his ass.

So Jean attempted to do what he did with things like mosquito bites. Touch everywhere _around_ the sweet spot, and get the same wonderful sensation of scratching the itch without any of the consequences.

Everything was going right for him; he had a good pace going, he wasn't over-stimulating his ass, and he'd even found a way to keep himself from giving too much attention to his dick. Not to mention, his little fantasy....

Jean took a desperate gasp for air as he imagined what it'd be like if the guy he was with had come first. He had no idea what it would _really_ feel like, but he'd shoved enough Vaseline up his ass to know what it's like to have weird liquids up his ass. The rush from the idea was amazing, his ego getting a boost from thinking he might actually be able to turn a guy on _and_ make them come for _him_? Nice. Nice nice nice, _very_ , nice.

That all blew up in his face though when his little idea from earlier came back, and he had a clearer imagination of it rather than just the idea in his mind. Marco. Marco with his hands tied to the headboard of a bed and a gag in his mouth, whimpering, whining, and making all the kinds of sounds that Jean had heard from him too many times.

Jean groaned into his pillow shamefully, his face, and fuck, his whole body, heating up at the idea. He couldn't, god no he _couldn't do that_! It was wrong! It was disgusting! It was horrible, and disrespectful, and just shameful all around.... But shame and Jean had a very close relationship, and he wasn't about to get over it now.

Accepting the guilt and the arousal he got from something he knew was so dirty and wrong, Jean let himself indulge in this new fantasy. And it truly was that, because he knew that this would never happen. Marco could love him to Pluto and back and fuck his brains out in even his wildest fantasies, and Jean could pretend he believed it.

But this? This would **never** happen. Jean would never be able to tie sweet precious mildly-innocent Marco up to a _bed_ , gag him to keep him quiet and then hop on his dick like some over confident cock-slut who _owned_ Marco.

In the moment though, in his fantasies, that was why it _felt so good_. It was so wrong, but Jean deserved to bask in a lot of false self confidence. And so he did, closing his eyes and excitedly delving into his little fantasy, his hips no longer under such a well timed control.

He imagined himself holding onto Marco's waist, and running one of his hands up the little trail of hair Marco had that he knew must've gone from his chest and straight down to his dick. Marco wasn't the kind of person to shave, Jean knew that. Being almost completely hairless was something that Jean loved and took pride in, but Marco having so much more hair than him was also something he loved. 

There was always something more mature, more _adult_ about Marco at face value, and sometimes Jean felt like Marco was so much older than him, like they'd both wake up one day and Marco would be a _man_. And under any other circumstances that might just bug Jean, but it didn't right now, not here in his mind. 

He knew Marco was more mature, regardless of him being older or having been graced by puberty to look like a fucking model. Marco being so "mature" but being the submissive one, the one who couldn't do anything, no, who didn't _want_ to do anything, but lay there all tied up and writhe around as Jean sat on top of him and made him feel good was one fucking _amazingly terrible_ feeling that he knew would never, ever, be a reality even if Hell froze over and the sun stopped shining. Jean loved to imagine the way it would've felt, Marco looking at him with such needy, desperate eyes, pleading him to just do _more_. Marco's legs out of view but still twisting and kicking with pleasure and the desire to be let free. The way Marco's poor arms would pull at the ties around his wrists, and how the gag in his mouth made it impossible for him to say what he really wanted, that he wanted _more_ , that he wanted Jean to stop taking his sweet old time with lifting and lowering his body onto his. How much Marco would want to have more control like he normally would, to tell Jean exactly what he wanted when he wanted but to never be able to because he'd let _Jean_ take control of things. Because he loved and trusted Jean to do exactly what he wanted, but didn't expect so much teasing and time _wasted_ because Jean was just having too much fun watching Marco squirm and beg with his eyes to get it done _faster_ , because it felt so, so fucking _good_ but he needed more.

" _F--fuck nfg oh... fuck...!_ " Jean gasped, his left hand completely covered in cum and his right hand roughly twisting and jamming the tube into him, pressing and rotating around his inner walls, his prostate being given an especially rough pass each time the tube went around. Jean panted, his chest heaving in pain. He'd been holding his breath for far too long without even realizing it, and he was sweating buckets pretty much everywhere.

It'd been quite the intense, tingly and hot kind of orgasm, but it was a good one. So good that Jean didn't even stop rotating the turkey baster or pumping his hand sloppily up and down his dick at first. Jean had no idea what kind of noises he'd been making, or how loud he'd been, but as his breathing started to steady, he stopped caring enough to think back on the past few minutes.

He slowly pulled his left hand away from his dick, which was quickly going limp, and tried to wipe everything on his hand off on his sheets. Gently, he started to pull the turkey baster tube out of his ass, shuddering a little at the strange, reverse sensation of it being pulled out. The bags didn't come with it, unfortunately, and Jean had to very awkwardly stick his fingers inside them to pinch and pull them out of himself. It too, was a very weird and uncomfortable feeling.

Jean took a deep breath and lifted his head up and out from under his blankets, taking in as much of the cool air as he could. And for a while, he did nothing else, just laying there, letting himself calm down after the horrible thing he'd just done. 

He rested his head down on his pillow, huffing and closing his eyes to try and relax. His lower stomach area was still warm and sensitive, still not completely drained of the butterfly light, rock-solid tension. The inner walls of his ass were still tingling, hot and empty feeling. There was a sort of pain he could only just feel, but it wasn't enough to ruin things. He'd be sore as hell tomorrow, though. 

It was a nice feeling while it was happening, but instead of the good kind of dirty excitement of before, now he just felt plain old dirty.

After some time, Jean got uncomfortable with the moist heat from under the blankets, and he kicked them to the side of his bed. The cold air was startling to the rest of his body, only his chest being saved because of his shirt, but after a moment or two it felt good. He _needed_ to cool down after that, and showering was out of the question.

Why did Jean have to be so disgusting in private...? There was no way everyone else did the sort of things he did, at least, maybe not as often? At the very least, he was sure most people had a bit more self control with their fantasizing, not that it was something normal people discussed.

He'd talked with Marco about weird stuff back when Christmas break had ended, but they didn't go too far with what they talked about. All Jean got out of it, was knowing that Marco wasn't as innocent and anti-sex as Jean had previously believed. And that Marco was responsible for a certain missing collectable glass knick-knack, but the things they'd said in Jean's room that night were to stay there.

Regardless, it made him feel a little more normal around Marco, but there was no way he'd ever truly get over the shame of what he'd just fantasized. He'd take banana fucking over this any day.

Whatever, though. Jean had a life to get back to. He sat up and slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, bending down to pick up his underwear. After he'd put them on, he peeled his sweat soaked shirt off and tossed it to the corner of his room.

He got off his bed and stretched, letting the air give him another cooling sensation in all the areas that it'd missed initially. Like before, his legs were a little wobbly, but as long as he took it slow he was confident he wouldn't trip or anything.

Jean flicked his bedroom light on and grabbed the turkey baster before slowly made his way towards the door, unlocking it lazily before pulling the door open a little harder than was necessary. Why did good orgasms always put him in such a weird state? It was hard to explain, the woozy but somehow perfectly clear feeling he had. Physically, he _felt_ good, but there was still a soreness that just made him feel off at the same time.

Maybe if he'd stop shoving weird stuff up his asshole he'd feel a little less exhausted, but the banana was the start of one incredibly slippery slope, and it only got steeper and steeper it seemed.

Jean's legs were particularly shaky as he walked down the hall, but he knew they'd knock it off after he relaxed more. For now though, he needed to get to the bathroom. He stopped at the door, unsure of which hand he should turn the knob with. They were both disgusting....

Deciding he'd just Lysol the knob afterwards, he used his free hand to turn the knob, pushing the door open. He tossed the turkey baster in the sink after he'd closed the door behind him, his feet almost shivering from the cold floor tiles.

God did he have to pee. He could barely raise the seat fast enough before pulling his dick out of his underwear. He could've showered, he really could've, but he didn't want to have to go through the effort of actually scrubbing away all the sweat and filth off of himself. It was much easier to just relax in his room afterwards.

Jean grabbed a bunch of toilet paper and quickly wiped as much Vaseline and cum off his dick as he could in his lazy state. He tossed the wad of toilet paper into the toilet afterwards, almost missing the damn bowl, and flipped the seat and lid down loudly before flushing. At this point, Jean wasn't sure if he'd rather go curl up in his bed to sleep, or if he should just collapse on the cold bathroom floor and let the tiles steal all the warmth from his body.

Either way, he needed to wash his hands and the turkey baster off first. As much as he'd prefer some room temperature or even cold water on his hands, Vaseline didn't come off quickly with just cold water, and he wanted to get things over with.

Jean ran his hands under the water for a moment, then over-pumped a huge amount of soap into his hands. He scrubbed at his hands roughly and sloppily until he was sure the Vaseline was off of them, and then he started to rinse the turkey baster. He felt a scratch on his hand and brought the tube closer to his face to he could see it better.

"Oh, for fuck's sake...." He muttered, noticing the crack running from the large end of the tube and about a third of the way down. He must have squeezed it too hard when he was fucking himself with it. Jean sighed and rinsed the rest of the soap off of it, wondering what the hell we was supposed to do about it now.

When he'd chosen it as his asshole's next victim he wasn't exactly thinking ahead. But at least if it wasn't broken he could wash it and put it back in the sink until he could run to Wal-Mart to buy another one. Now he'd have to actually hide it, because there was no way his mother was going to assume that it broke just sitting there.

Jean begrudgingly took the busted turkey baster tube with him back to his room, hiding it in the dresser drawer where his Vaseline was supposed to go. Speaking of which, Jean knew he'd have to peel all the blankets and sheets off his bed later so he could wash them at some point, and that certainly wasn't going to be fun. Girls were so lucky, they didn't make huge messes when they got off. According to porn anyway.

But for the time being, Jean was going to relax. He sat at his desk and opened the can of soda he'd gotten earlier, then opened his laptop as he took a sip. Soda tasted so much better after masturbating. Maybe it was just the fact that it was cold, or he'd sweat out so much water that his body was just so fucking excited to get some more in his system, or maybe it was the caffeine?

Jean didn't really care. He was a disgusting, shameful, filthy sinner, sure, but at least he felt good.

* * *

As weird as Valentine's Day had been, Jean had pushed his late night activities far out of his mind starting the next day, and he pretended like nothing had happened like he always did when it came to his most private thoughts about Marco. He was even lucky the next school day, since Marco hadn't come to school because he'd apparently overslept.

It was Thursday now though, and all of that, along with the things that had gone on in the entire week beforehand, was gradually fading away into irrelevance. Jean and Marco had just finished buying as much Valentine's Day candy as they could at the CVS by Marco's house, not that Marco was spending much of the money what with the multiple bags of fancy candy he already had, and the fact that he'd already gotten the worst stomach ache from over-eating the stuff on Sunday.

Jean managed to buy a lot of heart shaped boxes of chocolates, which he absolutely loved, but there wasn't much else that looked good. It was disappointing really, but he knew he should've gone shopping for the after-holiday sale candy on Monday instead of waiting so long. Everyone had the same idea.

"You're not having any of this, you know that, right?" Jean lifted his bag a little in emphasis. Marco scoffed as he pulled his keys out of his pocket, "Yeah? Why? I share my candy with you all the time, you just don't eat it." If he didn't buy such a disgusting candy half the time, then Jean _would_ eat it. 

"Because," Jean continued, "I don't wanna be responsible for you eating yourself into a food coma ever again." He heard Marco sigh as he unlocked and opened the door, and Jean could tell that there must've been an eye roll to go along with it. "Well... you shouldn't've under baked the brownies!"

They'd already discussed what happened the other day, but this was the first Jean was hearing that Marco thought he didn't cook the brownies all the way through. "Excuse me? I didn't under bake them, and even if I did, which I didn't, what does that have to do with anything? It's not like _slightly_ under-baked brownies have raw egg in them or anything."

At least, that's what Jean thought. He honestly didn't know, but everything he knew about baking said that they should've been fine to eat, especially considering they'd eaten the _raw_ brownie batter itself.

"Mhmm, whatever you say. I'm gonna get a water, d'you want anything?" Marco responded, leaving his shoes by the door before walking towards the dining room. Jean sucked on his teeth as he kicked his own shoes off, "Ugh, no. Where'd you say my pants were?" He had yet to get them or his sock back, not that he could blame Marco for forgetting.

"On top of my dresser!" Marco answered back. Jean went upstairs after that, eager to get his sock and pants in his possession again. They were nice pants! Maybe they didn't make his ass look as good as the jeans he'd debated wearing, but there was a reason he had a hard time choosing between them.

Jean tossed his bag of assorted chocolates onto Marco's desk as he walked through the room and over to the dresser. As he expected, the sock he'd left was nowhere to be found. Damned dryers. He might as well have thrown the sock away instead.

He picked up the pants and sat down on Marco's bed before unfolding them, looking them over for any rips or tears. It wasn't like he thought there would be, he was just used to expecting bad things to happen to him since his Sunday night of sin. Valentine's Day, February, winter, Christmas break, it'd all been so damn frustrating. 

The entire past _year_ had been pretty frustrating. It was getting pretty tiring. Jean was on the fast track to having a heart attack and dying at a young age if he kept dragging himself through the ringer over everything that stressed him out.

When Marco came into the room Jean readjusted himself on the bed so he could look at him, "Hey Marco?" He was holding two water bottles, and Jean wondered for a second if one of them was for him, despite him saying he didn't want one. When would Marco learn, that no matter how purified, flavored, or "mineral enhanced" water was, Jean was never going to like it? "Yeah." Marco responded, closing the door behind him.

"I love you." Jean sighed, doing everything he could to not break eye contact. But Marco just looked at him confusedly, raising one of his eyebrows, "Uhh, okay? I love you t--" Dumbass. " _No!_ " Jean interrupted, the annoyance clear in his voice. "I, I'm _in love_ with you." He corrected him, and he wanted to look away, but he was too nervous to do it.

Marco's face went blank. Completely blank. Why? Why did he look like that, why'd he have to look at Jean like _that_? It was like, Jean had just told him that he had cancer or something and Marco was stuck in between horror and believing it was just some sick joke. And God, why wasn't he _saying anything_?

Silence. Silence, silence, and even more agonizingly obvious _silence_. How long had it been? 20 seconds? 5 minutes? 10? Jean couldn't take it anymore, and he finally pried his eyes away from Marco. "A-and you know that, that love letter you got in your locker...? Around when school started? I wrote that."

That got a more readable reaction out of Marco, his arm clutching the water bottles closer to his chest, "What letter?" He asked, stress very clear on his face. Jean almost couldn't believe it. Was Marco honestly lying to him? He saw Marco open it and read it, he'd _found it_ in Marco's room once, there was no way Marco had just forgotten about it or something.

"The... the _love letter_ that I put in your locker!" Jean repeated, unsure of how he was supposed to better explain it. A love letter was a very basic concept, and unless Marco was getting tons of them and just didn't think to mention it to Jean, then he had no idea why Marco was playing dumb.

Marco shook his head quickly, his eyes darting around the room. "I, I, I don't.... Did Ymir, did she tell you about it? Is this a joke?" A joke. A joke! As if Jean would ever... okay well maybe he would under the right circumstances, but he wasn't joking today.

"Wait, you told _your sister_ about it but you didn't tell me?" Jean was honestly offended. He didn't think that Marco trusted his sister with his love life more than his apparently not "best" best friend.

"N-no! No! I mean, uh," Marco stumbled over his words, looking down at the floor. "I just- I... _uhn_...." He trailed off, biting at his bottom lip repeatedly. Jean had _never_ seen Marco like this, or at least, he hadn't seen Marco so flustered and panicked over a lie since they were a lot younger.

But Jean hadn't planned this, and he could barely control his own reactions to what he was hearing. "Are you even gay? Because you make it _really_ hard to fuckin' tell." He regretted what he said the moment he said it, because he already knew that Marco didn't think it was right to ask things like that. He knew and he'd done it anyway. Even the Valentine's Day pizza phone call, when Marco panicked over that, wasn't as truly panicked as Jean knew Marco could get.

Marco looked up, but couldn't look Jean in the eyes, "...Well, _y-yeah_ but--" Jean was absolutely stunned. "What!? When was this!? Why didn't you tell me? I told you _I_ was gay!" Bi, but same difference for what they were talking about.

He really should've kept his mouth shut and let Marco talk and think, but he couldn't help it, he was so confused and was starting to panic himself. As expected though, Marco didn't look very happy when he looked back up at him, "Because...! I didn't, _know_ until... like last year, okay? And, I didn't want to tell you until you were okay with telling me you were gay because I-I didn't want to freak you out or something!"

What kind of excuse was that? "But I told you already _last month_ , why didn't you tell me then!? You'll tell me you banged Mikasa and you used fucking _glass_ to fuck yourself but, but you couldn't tell me you're _gay_?" He hadn't meant to say those things in an accusing way, really, just, they were good comparisons!

Marco's face was red, but whether it was from embarrassment or anger Jean couldn't tell. "Sh-shut the hell up, okay!? My _parents_ are home y-you can't just bring that stuff up!" Maybe he was angry _and_ embarrassed. "You can't just, just _judge_ me like this, you wouldn't tell me you were gay for _years_ and I didn't say anything about it because it's, it's your business, okay!? Not mine!"

Damn it all why did Marco have to go and make valid points? "But why didn't you tell me!?" Jean asked again, not thinking to apologize. It was just, what Marco said didn't make complete sense, and Jean hated not understanding things.

"Jean, _please_ stop it, it's not funny." Marco said quietly, looking at Jean with pleading eyes.

If only Marco would just, talk to him! "I'm not laughing! Did you even hear what I said? I, I'm in love with you! I wrote you that, that lett--" Marco looked like he wanted to put the bottles down, but there was nowhere near him he could place them but the floor. "No! No you didn't!" He sounded so, _sure_ of himself, it was weird.

Did someone else take credit for Jean's hard work!? Was he gonna have to get someone to analyze the hand writing? Jean _knew_ it was a good idea to hand write the letter. "Yes, I _did_! It, it's in a red envelope made of construction paper, with with, with _hearts_ on it!" Jean was having trouble remembering exactly what it looked like. It _had_ been about half a year, and he did try hard to forget about it.

Marco was holding onto those poor water bottles like his life depended on it, but he stared at Jean with pure confidence in his eyes. "S-so? Ymir could've told you that! What.... Tell me what's _in_ it." He demanded firmly, much to Jean's dismay.

What was in it? Oh God, if he'd known he was going to have a fucking test on the fucking thing he would've memorized it, or maybe a copy of it or something! But, he'd tried _so_ hard to forget about it, his mind was drawing a blank.

Although, for however much time went by, neither of them moved or said anything. Jean could only guess that, if Marco told Ymir about the letter, he must not have told her what was in it, otherwise Marco asking would just be a cruel waste of time. Jean thought hard, thinking about what kinds of stupid things his mind would have chewed up and spat onto that damned paper when he was overwhelmed with affectionate fantasies about how perfect and adorable Marco was.

And then Jean tried to think back to December, when he'd told Armin that he wrote Marco the letter. Had he told him what was in the letter? It was hard to believe that Armin of all people would've tried to take credit for the letter, and honestly, Jean didn't think that was what happened at all. But then he remembered the hot chocolate Armin made for them both.

Jean sighed and looked away from Marco, instead giving the pants he'd left another good stare. "I... I think your, _fuck_ , y-your... your, _freckles_ are l-like little, _bits_ of cinnamon on... fucking... sweet and, warm...? Snicker-doodle cookies...?" Jean forced the words out of his mouth like they were _vomit_ , his embarrassment at even the vaguest memory of what he wrote in that poor excuse for a letter of "love". Love, sure, love from an idiot anyway.

"... _Oh_." Marco said it almost so quietly that Jean didn't even hear it, and for a second Jean almost hoped that Marco said he was 100% fucking wrong and to try again never. But then, like his feet had been un-stapled from the ground, Marco practically power-walked across the room to his closet. He pushed the large door open, and pulled out a red piece of paper. No, _the envelope_.

"Did you really write this?" Marco asked, his body and face as tense as could be, but his hands very gentle as they held the paper. Jean took his eyes away from Marco and nodded, but he was embarrassed to admit it. "How... how's it signed?" Marco asked, this time with more sincerity in his voice, and not a challenge.

That one was actually a little easier. Jean remembered, vaguely, how he felt when he's written it. He didn't just want Marco to know that someone thought he was gorgeous and perfect, he wanted Marco to feel _special_ , and nothing but a very special end note was fitting for that. A simple "With Love, Your secret admirer", the typical anonymous love letter bullshit thing to say, was in no way special.

"Uhm... ugh.... 'Sincerely, someone who... _adores_ you'...." Jean muttered, cringing inwardly and almost hoping he'd actually written something different.

There was a brief silence, and Jean was glad he wasn't looking at Marco. "You uh... you spelled 'sincerely' wrong...." He heard Marco say progressively louder, which got Jean's attention. "What? N-no I didn't!" Jean checked that letter over way too many times, there was no way he'd screw up the spelling of the signature, would he?

Marco's face was red, but mostly hidden behind the letter that he'd been holding maybe a little bit too close to his face. But Jean was frustrated by Marco's silence. "I-I know how to spell it, okay!? S, I, N, C, E, R, L, Y, _s-sincerely_." Just because it was a dead, uncommon word didn't mean Jean couldn't spell it. His 3rd grade writing class etched all the different openings and endings of letters into his brain well enough.

"Sincerely has 2 E's...." Marco murmured as he lowered the letter, looking at Jean sheepishly. "What? N-no it doesn't...!" Jean argued back, but as fast as he was willing to disagree, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and and typed "sincerly" into the Google search bar.

Fuck. Jean shoved his phone back into his pocket and looked back at his pants, his hands tightly and stiffly clenched into fists. He knew he should've ran the thing through spell check on his computer or something. Sincerely just didn't look _right_ with two E's, not to Jean. He was an artist, not a writer! Had he spelled anything else wrong? How could he fuck up such an important part of a love letter?

"Jean...?" Marco started, not that Jean was ready to hear anything he had to say. "You, do you really mean everything y-you wrote?" Honestly? Jean wasn't sure. When he'd written it though, the answer was a clear yes. But it'd been so long, and he wasn't drunk with those kinds of fantasies, and since he didn't remember everything he wrote....

"I... I think so? I dunno, it's been, like, forever since I wrote that thing...." He wasn't about to lie to Marco's face, not with the kind of risk that went with it.

He looked up and saw that Marco was staring at the letter again, with one hand on his face, hiding the blushing on at least his cheek. "Oh... _oh_ , really? You think my eyes are like, like _marbles in the sun_?" Oh _God_ , were those the exact words?

"And, and you think my, ah, my smile makes you feel like you're always home? You think I'm, _beautiful like a sunrise_ when the sky is still pink and, and the clouds are purple? My laugh's as sweet and comforting as--" Jean could _not_ listen to it anymore. "J-just stop! Stop reading it out loud, okay?"

He was embarrassed, obviously. How could he have been so... ridiculous? In the moment it probably all sounded romantic and spectacular, but now? Now it just sounded silly.

"Why...?" Marco asked, sounding more confused than ever. Jean scoffed, shrugging his shoulders lightly, "Because it's... it's like, cheesy." Jean thought things had to be a bit more traditional and repetitive to be considered truly cheesy or corny, but the things he'd written were definitely awkward to say the least.

"So what? I, I think it's sweet! And it, makes me happy...." Marco defended the letter in such a way that Jean felt both pride and embarrassment for somehow succeeding at what he'd set out to do, even though it was in such a god awful way. "My god, Jean, you're such an asshole." Marco sighed, folding the letter back up and placing it neatly back in its envelope.

Jean looked up at him, panic rising in him. But Marco cleared things up before Jean could get to any conclusion. "I thought, that this was, someone making fun of me or something! And I waited, but no one.... You didn't _say_ anything to me! You, you didn't even write me another one! How could you do that to me!?"

Oh, so he was supposed to write him more, huh? Well that was just impossible. Jean shrugged again, defensively, "Well you didn't tell me about it either, even when I saw it in your room! _Why_ do you keep it with your condoms and, 'stuff'?"

Marco turned around quickly, putting the letter back from wherever he'd gotten it in the closet, before turning around again to look at Jean, a shameful look on his face. "It's, n-not what you think, alright? Just... Ymir found it in my room one day and, I didn't want anyone else to find it so I kept it in there... I didn't think anyone would look in an 'empty' shoe box in my room, okay?" A convenient story, but Jean wasn't about to ask if Marco got turned on by being told he was pretty.

"Why didn't you tell me about it? I'm your 'best friend', remember?" Jean tried not to sound bitter about it, but to be honest, he was.

Marco crossed his arms across his chest and looked down at the floor, "Well, this is why. You... you think what you wrote is silly. I didn't want you to laugh at me for liking it." Oh. Well, fuck, Jean felt like an asshole. "Right... sorry." Jean mumbled, shame washing over him.

"So... you, uhm, you love me." Marco said awkwardly, still unable to look at Jean. It brought them straight back around to the million dollar question: Did Marco feel the same way? " _Yeah_." Jean responded, stressing the words so that Marco might take the hint that he was supposed to explain himself.

But Marco stopped looking happily embarrassed and sheepish, scratching at his arms and biting his lip again. Jean just didn't get it. What the hell was going on in Marco's head? Why was he acting like this?

Marco had to have understood then, that there was no way to get out of this, not without making things strained and awkward between them both. "I didn't, I didn't wanna tell you that I was gay because, because then you might...." He sounded so nervous, Jean was actually starting to feel worry creep up in the back of his mind. "I thought that you might, f-find out about, how I, felt?"

What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean? "Felt...? About?" Jean asked, staring Marco down intensely even though he wasn't trying to.

" _Jean_ , you're, you're nice and.... I like you, I mean, I, _had_ a crush on you, well, I do, but...." Marco was so quiet, so nervous and _sad_ sounding.

But all of that didn't matter to Jean in the moment. "Y-you do!?" The excitement and hope in his voice was all too clear, and Marco looked at him with wide, unreadable eyes. The signs were all there, but Jean wasn't listening.

"I don't want to go out with you, or anything like that." Marco stated finally, and as the words registered in Jean's brain he felt his chest tighten, and he honestly felt like his heart had just been crushed.

"But, that doesn't... make any sense?" Jean spoke quietly, his voice filled with disbelief and sadness.

Marco nodded curtly, his eyes continuously darting back and forth between Jean and, well, anything in the room that wasn't Jean. "I know, I know, I just, try not to think about it...? Feelings go away, y'know? I just, if I don't think about it, then it'll go away at some point. A-and I believe you, that you really love me, but I just... don't feel the same way."

Jean froze, and stared at Marco, unsure of how to react, or if he even could react. Years. Years. Years. Years he'd wanted to tell Marco, and now he'd finally told Marco, and Marco had a crush on him, but Marco didn't... want to date him...? He just thought that they could both, ignore it, and then they'd start to feel normal again...? 

That made no sense! It made absolutely no sense! None at all! Not a single tiny bit of logic _at all_! "Why...?" Jean asked, his emotional state teetering between being angry and being sad.

Marco knew Jean well enough to see that Jean wasn't handling what he said well. He let one of his arms drop, and rubbed its elbow with his other hand, "Jean I, I do _love_ you, just, not like that. We're, uhm, best friends, right? I just don't wanna ruin that by trying to start a relationship that just... won't work."

"Why won't it work!?" Jean blurted out, his voice cracking. "It's, it's not any different to being f-friends, not really!" That wasn't true, and Jean knew that, but he didn't know what he was doing.

"It _is_ different." Marco said calmly, repeating the logic that was too hard for Jean to accept. "People who're friends, and then date, they don't... they don't last, okay? And then after people break up, th-then, that's it, nothing's the same anymore! Dating might be nice f-for a while but after that? Things can't just 'go back to normal'...." Marco trailed off.

Jean, in all his many years of over-thinking and expertise at horrible scenario imagining, had never actually thought of what would happen _after_ dating Marco. Not marriage, not their eventual 1 year anniversary, and especially not their inevitable break up. Jean hadn't even imagined what things would be like if they got that far. "B-but, what, what if it's not like that? Not everyone who breaks up stops being friends! W-we, we've been friends for, for _ten years_ y-y'know it's n-not just like we...." Jean trailed off, uncertain of where his mind was trying to go with things.

Marco sighed and started to wring his hands together, but he pulled his hands apart and let his arms stiffly hang at his sides. "But it, _would_ happen, with us, alright? You're _in love with me_ , but I don't feel the same way about you, Jean. Okay, we'd, we'd have to break up at some point because I wouldn't be able to give you the same things, and, and it'd make things awkward between us!"

Jean was supposed to be the one who came up with the worst possible outcome of things, not Marco. Why was Marco saying those things!? Wasn't he the more optimistic one between the two of them? Wasn't he the one who treated his fake relationships with such high respect!? "N-no I won't, I--" 

Marco almost seemed, angry, with Jean at that, "We already talked about this Jean! You can't just, promise that you can pretend things will go back to normal, you don't _know_ how you're going to feel, and, a-and you can't _help it_ if you feel like I, like I didn't try hard enough to be what you want. And I can't... do what you want, that's what I know, okay? But Jean if you really _love_ me then, then I'm just gonna end up disappointing you."

Marco was looking at him so sincerely, but all Jean could see was pity. "Wh-why are you _saying_ th-that?" Jean tried to keep his voice from cracking, but it wasn't exactly a controllable thing. "D-don't you wanna be _happy_...?" Why didn't Marco want to even try? Why was he so certain that things wouldn't work? Why didn't he want a real relationship with **anyone**?

"I-- We _are_ happy! We don't need to start dating just to be happy, okay? We're, we're teenagers and we don't need to get into relationships and stuff, okay? I know it'd make you really, r-really happy to be with someone but, I can't _do_ that." Marco tried to explain, but Jean honestly didn't understand.

Jean felt shaky, like his whole body was choking and he didn't know what to do. He couldn't look at Marco, he couldn't stare at the pity in Marco's eyes without wanting to burst into angry tears. He didn't need pity! He wasn't pathetic.

"What's w-wrong with me?" Jean whimpered, trying his hardest not to cry in front of Marco. It would be the ultimate guilt trip, and Jean would rather throw himself out the window and break both his legs than make Marco feel any amount of _guilt_ for rejecting him. Jean was angry, sure, but it wasn't necessarily at Marco. He felt like, he'd lied to himself, like he set himself up for failure and his sadness just wasn't warranted because he should've _known better_.

But Jean honestly didn't know what else he could do, for anyone, to make them like him. If his own best friend didn't think a relationship between them could end in anything but bitter failure that tore their friendship apart along with it, then what did his other friends think? What could strangers think? Was Jean really just, too excessive? Maybe he shouldn't have said he "loved" Marco, maybe he should have lied and said he had a simple crush on him instead.

" _Nothing_! Jean, I promise okay, there's nothing wrong with you! I just, I _know_ I wouldn't be able to, to be what you want, okay? You really, really love me and I can't, I can't just _date_ you when I know I'll just hurt you whenever you see I'm not what you wanted. And I just, I can't handle all of that, and we wouldn't be giving each other what we want, okay?" Marco sounded desperate as he tried to explain himself yet again.

"What are you _talking_ about!?" Jean asked, daring to take a glance upwards. "You can't 'be' _what_?"

Marco sighed in frustration, rubbing his hand over his face. "I, can't be your _boyfriend_! I can't do that, n-not for you, or for anyone else, okay? I _can't_." He said it as if dating were like flying, like it was physically _impossible_.

Jean didn't understand. He just didn't understand. "What does that even _mean_...?" He asked, surprisingly quiet for someone who was fighting back tears.

"I, I don't _know_ , I dunno how to explain it okay? I just, I can't be that for someone. Nothing's wrong with you, _or_ me, it's just... it's just... I dunno." Marco sighed, finally taking a much needed seat on the other side of his bed.

Jean still didn't understand exactly what Marco meant, but it seemed like Marco didn't either. "So... n-nothing wrong with me?" Jean had to practically whisper to keep himself from crying. Or at least, that's what he told himself as he ignored the tears swelling around his eyes.

"Nothing, really, I, I promise, okay?" Marco responded, leaning away for a moment before moving closer to Jean, handing him a few tissues. Jean bit his lip to try and keep himself from sobbing, but once he started to wipe the hot tears from his eyes, he let one escape him. He felt so petty and stupid. He'd cried way too much the past week over the dumbest things, and now he was adding onto that list.

"I'm _sorry_. I'm sorry." Jean said in between sniffles, unable to look at Marco. He shouldn't have said some of the shit he'd said, he knew that much. He shouldn't have cried, either.

Marco leaned away yet again, this time returning with the entire box of tissues, "I... I know." Jean took far more tissues than he really needed at the moment, pressing them on and around his eyes before using them to wipe the tears that had already rolled down his face.

He felt one of Marco's hands touch one of his own, which had been tightly gripping the blankets on top of Marco's bed. "I love you." When Jean heard that, he knew Marco didn't mean it in the way Jean did, but at the same time, he needed to hear it. "I, I love you, t-too." Jean echoed back, of course, meaning it in the same way that Marco had.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering why I'd do something as "random and out of place" as make it so Marco had sex with Mikasa it was 100% planned since I started writing the part where Jean and Marco go to the party. It totally happened. I didn't make it up recently just to throw some weird fake out at you guys to add some weird love triangle thing or something. Spoiler alert: That's not happening. I'm not saying that to say Jean and Marco are definitely getting together either but you get the idea.
> 
> Also, I don't want you guys to think that just because Jean's character had a bad, negative week full of doubt and low-self esteem+rejection, that it somehow means this series is going to take a downward spiral into Sad-Ville where Jean honestly hates himself and it shatters his friendship with Marco. I don't like giving away spoilers but that just is not what's going to happen, I promise, and I don't want anyone to think that. Jean and Marco are still friends and Jean's going to learn how to deal with what happened in a happy, safe, healthy manner. If this was too sad I can promise you that the next, final part is going to be nothing but neutral+positiveness. Happy endings are what I live for. 
> 
> I understand this was a bit of a roller coaster and I may have mislead some of you with the previews I posted on tumblr, but I can PROMISE YOU that the last part will be happy regardless of the outcome you're looking for. But, if you had no problems with any of those things then great! Please praise me and remind me why I wrote an entire series based off of Jean shoving weird things up his butt. There's only one more part after this and it is going to be long. Which you know means REALLY long since the short 8k part I was planning to write last time was 40k+ words across two chapters in the end. I also have a tumblr you can ask me stuff on. Hint hint

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Semisweet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318707) by [Ritzy_bird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird)




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